Modern Warfare 2: The Novelization
by ScopeRyan
Summary: Its been five years... a lot has changed... Soap Mactavish has joined an international special forces group named, Task Force One Four One. The Russians now treat Zakhaev as a hero. A new terror rises.
1. SSDD

October 30, 2016

Five years…

The time that had past since Imran Zakhaev, the terrorist that was responsible for the death of 30,000 marines, the death of 890,000 civilians, was killed by John MacTavish…

The Russians fought beside us… bled beside us… just to secure the freedom of the world… just to save the people from the evil that Zakhaev had brought so he can reform the Soviet Union… so he can form the New Russia…

Yet now… The Russians say we 'murdered' their 'hero'…

History is written by the victor…

And here I am thinking we've won…

Bring down one enemy… a worse one replaces him… Makarov…

A mad-dog killer… he's pure evil… this son of a bitch was just another civilian hiding and avoiding gunfire… and then he decides he'd step into Zakhaev's shoes… form a terrorist cell and 'Fight the oppression'. Damned Communists…

He says he fights for Russia [sic] the Russians treat Makarov as their leader…

He ,then, declares Zakhaev a hero

Now, they honor him with a monument in his image…

'Imran Zakhaev, Hero of the New Russia, Hero of the People' inscribed below it…

Huh… what about our soldiers who died for the sake of THEIR country? My RANGERS who were killed in a blink of an eye? How about a little honorary for 'em, eh?

…

…

The six-day war between us and the Ultranationalists were 'rewritten' from the reports…

All S.A.S. and U.S.M.C. soldiers that was in Russia the day the war ended, with the exception of Sgt. MacTavish (who was safely transported back to HQ a day later), were incarcerated for their 'crimes' to the 'People of the Motherland'…

After they had been hospitalized, that is…

Damn…

The more things change, the more they stay the same…

Boundaries shift… New players come in…

But power always finds a place to rest its head…

Locations, objectives and rationales change…

Yesterday's enemies are now today's recruits…

Train them and hope they won't hate you for it…

Same Shit… Different Day…

Lt. Gen. Adrian Shepherd

U.S. Army Rangers

Day One

15:30:32

1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment

Fire Base Phoenix, Afghanistan

Private First Class Joseph Allen marched towards the shooting range of the Firebase Phoenix, their camp in Afghanistan. He was called for by Sergeant Foley. Foley had a look that was as if he ate bullets for breakfast. And because he was black, the soldiers nicknamed him the 'Son of Kong'.

"PFC Allen, meet our new recruits!" Foley shouted.

Allen nodded and took a look at the soldiers from the Afghan National Army. By the way they held their weapons, Allen immediately knew that they were still 'green'.

"Allen," the sergeant spoke, "these FNGs don't know how to shoot right! They keep sprayin' bullets all over the place! They keep on firin' from the hip!"

Allen smiled, he knew that Foley was a marksman and that accuracy was a big deal for him. _Hell… this guy could shoot a target a hundred feet away with a M4A1 and still hit the bull's eye _Allen thought.

"YOU!" Foley pointed at one of the recruits. The recruit's eyes widened and pointed at himself, asking if he was the one being called.

"YEAH, YOU! Demonstrate how you shoot for PFC Allen!"

The Afghan raised his M16 and, as Sergeant Foley had said, fired from the hip.

The bullets completely missed the target but one managed to get a centimeter close to it.

"ALLEN!!! SHOW THESE PUNKS HOW TO SHOOT THE RIGHT WAY!!!"

He obeyed. He raised his Adaptive Combat Rifle and looked down the holographic sight.

He pulled the trigger enough for around six bullets to come out.

They hit the target in a diagonal-like formation. One hit the bull's eye and the target hit the dirt.

"That's all there is to it!" Foley yelled. "If you want the enemy to go down, aim down your sights! Thanks for the help, Allen. Now go down to the Pit! General Shepherd wants to talk to you…"

Allen saluted him and he saluted back.

He ran through the basketball court and headed for the 'Pit', the base's CQB course.

He ran down the stairs leading to the entrance of the Pit. Corporal Dunn was waiting for him.

"Hey, Joe…" he murmured. "Welcome back… General Shepherd's pull up a shooter from our unit for some spec ops… anyway, he's up there in the observatory. Here!"

Dunn threw him a Desert Eagle. He also replaced Allen's ACR with an M4.

"Remember… switching to your pistol is faster than reloading. Knifing is also faster… Now, smile for the cameras and don't miss… best shooter joins the prima dona squad… if that's your thing…"

Private Allen smiled.

"Now remember… the timer starts as soon as the first target pops up. Now go!"

He entered through the door and ran upstairs. A voice boomed on the loudspeaker.

"Good day, Private Allen… This is General Shepherd… On the count of three I'll start the course and the timer will run. One… Two… THREE!!!"

Three targets popped up. One of them was a cardboard civilian. The two terrorist cut-outs didn't even last two seconds since Allen had already gunned them down.

"Area clear. Run to the next one!"

Allen sprinted towards the entrance of the next building. Adrenaline filled his body. Being a regular of the Pit, he already memorized where civilian and terrorist cut-outs appeared.

Five terrorists and two civilians in the next area.

**BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!** All the terrorists went down.

One bullet almost hit a civilian's shoulder but instead hit the terrorist behind the cutout.

"CAREFUL WHERE YOU SHOOT AT!" said the general. "UP THE STAIRS! GO! GO! GO!"

He skipped the stairs by two steps. He knew that at the top of it there would be a—

"KNIFE THE TARGET!"

He grabbed his BlackHawk Tatang and stabbed the cardboard.

He stepped on the cut-out and shot the remaining targets inside.

"AREA CLEAR! JUMP DOWN!"

Allen jumped through the large pane-less window and hit the ground.

"LAST AREA!"

He, noticing that his M4 was empty, switched to his pistol.

The Desert Eagle had a lot of recoil, he had to use it with both his hands. **BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!**

"NOW SPRINT TO THE FINISH!!!!"

Allen ran as fast as he could, after all, the clock was still ticking.

Corporal Dunn waited for him at the exit.

"Holy shit, Joe! 34.48 seconds! You made that course your bitch!"

Allen, flattered, smiled.

"But still, you don't break the record. Some dude with a Mohawk and a funny accent, British I think, rolled that course in 18.26 seconds. Made our D boys look like they were movin' in slow motion."

"Whoah…" whispered Allen.

Private Walden came down the stairs and said, "Hehehe… Yeah… But that Mohawk guy's friend, you know him?"

"The guy with the skull ski mask?" Dunn asked.

Walden confirmed, "Yeah… He ran that course in 18.28 seconds… with a Colt 1911!"

"WOW! That's whacked!"

"Yeah! Oh, Allen, the general said that you should go to him in the observatory. I think he wants to talk to ya…"

"'kay…" the private then took off. He climbed the stairs and the ladder. He was now up in the wooden tower.

A man wearing a blue fatigue camouflage with a beret.

"Hello, Private."

Shepherd shook hands with Joseph Allen.

"I read your file… It says here that you speak Russian fluently. Is that correct?"

Allan proved that to him, saying, "_Da, comrade general._"

"Very good. The computer says that your grade in finishing the Pit is… VETERAN. Well, son… you should be proud of that. Y'know why? Because we are the most powerful military force in the history of man! Anyway… for now you'll—

**BOOM!!!**

"What in God's name—? Allen get back to your squad!"

"Yes, Sir!"

As Allen got down from the tower, the siren rung loudly. Humvees were parked on the yard. Sergeant Arnett came out of one and brought out a wounded Ranger.

"They blew the damn bridge! We gotta move!" Arnett hollered.

Walden approached the sergeant and assisted in carrying the wounded.

He exclaimed, "BCT One is trapped across the river in the red zone! We've lost contact!"

Foley yelled, "DAMN! We let our guard down! That bridge was important! Everyone to their vehicles! We're movin' out!"

The bridge was of high priority to the soldiers. It was the only way to get to the Red Zone, the rebels' hideout.

Allen jumped into the Hummer. Beside him, someone, probably one of the wounded, had left a Beretta M9. He grabbed it and replaced the Desert Eagle in his holster.

Dunn entered the vehicle and sat to Allen's left.

"Allen, man that minigun!" he ordered.

Private Allen did so. He stood and entered halfway through the hole in the ceiling. The GAU-2 was mounted on the roof. He, then, grasped the left and right grip. There were two buttons on it. The left one was to spool the barrels and the second one was to fire them. To operate, one needed to push both.

Private McClouskey drove the Hummer to the bridge. It didn't really take them long to get there… It was just a few klicks of desert.

The Humvee in front of them stopped. As was reported by Sgt. Arnett, half of the bridge was destroyed.

"Jeez… McClouskey muttered. "How the hell cou— RPGs!!!!"

Like bees going for a sting, two rockets soared through the air, directed to hit them!

"SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!!! EVERYONE GET OUT!!!"

Allen immediately went down. But just as he opened the side door…

Too late…

**BOOM!!!!**


	2. Team Player

Allen's body ached. He felt his face touch the dirt. Someone was pulling him. No, not pulling, waking him…

He opened his eyes… though his vision was still blurry…

It was a man wearing a beret. His moustache was the same color as his hair… gray…

"Private Allen!" he said… his voice… familiar…

"Get up, Private Allen! Rangers lead the way!" It was General Shepherd!

Allen immediately stood up. He felt that his right arm was damaged.

"You're too important to me to die now! You took quite a fall… You were up in the bridge. When that RPG hit your ride, you came flying down! That was a 17-feet fall!"

_Hmm… no wonder I ache all over…_

"Now, lay down suppressing fire!" he yelled as he disappeared behind a M104 Wolverine, a bridge layer.

The PFC removed the slung M4A1 from his back, thankfully, undamaged.

He didn't have time to wipe the dirt off… bullets were fly from every direction.

Rebels from across the river shot at them with whatever gun they have… ranging from pistols to rocket launchers.

Another RPG swooped past just an inch above Allen's head. In retaliation, he shot his rifle the way Rangers do it. Crouching then aiming then shooting.

Foley had a point. If you shoot from the hip, you'll do nothing else but spray bullets.

Allen took down four rebels.

Foley came up behind Allen. "Hunter 2! Keep the pressure up on those RPG teams! If that bridge layer gets hit, we're swimmin'! Ooohrah?!!"

Allen took down more of them.

"PFC Allen! Switch to your M203!"

"OOOHRAH!!" Allen shouted as he grabbed the loaded the single-shot grenade launcher attached to his rifle.

"Warlord, this is Hunter 2-1! Do you read?!" Pvt. Merlin, the team's radioman, yelled at the receiver.

Finally he got an answer.

"**I read ya, Hunter 2-1!**"

"Warlord, request air strike at the white ap— whoah!"

A bullet swept near his chin; a little too close for his comfort.

Merlin grabbed his sidearm and began randomly firing at the enemies across the river.

"YAAH! TAKE THAT YOU SONS OF—! Warlord, I repeat, request air strike at the large white apartment building across the river."

"**Roger, Hunter 2-1…we have two F-15 jets with Joint Direct Attack Munitions on standby for relay...—**

A muffled voice with aircraft engine noises interrupted the frequency…

"**Hunter 2-1, this is Devil 1-1, please reiterate your request…" it was one of the F-15 pilots…**

"Okay, Devil 1-1, the target is a large, no, the tallest apartment building to the left… I need you to level that building…"

"**Roger, Hunter 2-1, that building will be gone in just a few minutes…**"

"Roger, OUT!"

Merlin replaced the receiver on the hook.

Suddenly, Allen felt a sharp jabbing pain on his left arm. He was hit!

_Aaarrghh… I'm gonna kill that bastard…_

More bullets came showering down on the ground near Allen.

_What the…?_

He looked up… the rebels were on the half part of the bridge!

As Allen saw them, Foley shouted, "ON THE BRIDGE! 10 o'clock high! Multiple targets! TAKE 'EM OUT!!!!"

But before the other Rangers could even flinch, PFC Joseph Allen had already taken them out in retribution.

"Good job, Allen… They're retreating… keep hitting 'em…"

The bridge layer named 'Big Foot' positioned itself at the broken end and started to lower the connector.

The screams of dying rebels had faded out. The connection to the other side of the bridge was complete. The men regrouped with their sergeant.

"Alright, Hunter Two, the bridge laying is complete, we're Oscar Mike! Move out!" Foley exclaimed.

Dunn then bellowed at the lower ranked, "We're movin' out!"

"Let's go! Let's go! Let's go! Get your friggin' asses back in the vehicle!"

The soldiers ran up the concrete stairs and onto the bridge.

Allen followed his orders. On the bridge, he noticed that the Hummer he rode in a while ago was no more but scrap.

"Over here, Joe!" Dunn called. He was already in the Humvee.

Again, Allen entered the right back seat.

"You man the GAU, Joe… We wait till the F-15s take out the apartment…"

_Again…? There better be no RPGs this time…_

Allen placed himself comfortably in the turret.

"Where's McClouskey?" he asked.

"Dead… didn't make it out. He got the full blast of the RPG, Joe…"

"Damn… I'm gonna miss that joker…"

"Yeah…"

Pvt. Stanton, the driver, asked… "Hey, sir, which building are they gonna hit"

"It's the tall one at one o'clock…" replied Sgt. Arnett

"The tall on—which one?"

"The one at one o'clock!!!"

"The one at—whi—?"

"THE ONE ON THE LEFT! DAMN IT!!!"

"oh… hey… isn't that danger close for the task force? I mean, we could also get hit by those missiles!"

Dunn interjected… "Since when does Shepherd care about danger close?"

"He's never been the same since those marines died in Iraq, Dunn, now all he cares about is winin' this war and killin' Nazi— I mean terrorists… ENOUGH, STANTON!" Arnett said.

Stanton was going to say something but stayed quiet instead.

"Yeah, Sarge, especially now that Russia's betrayed us. Sayin' that we killed their people… Sonsabitches…"

A ranger behind the humvee yelled, "HERE THEY COME!!!"

Two missiles flew in the air and thumped the surface of the building, exploding in impact. The apartment crumbled like a cookie. Followed by a shockwave which made the dust blow and the fences rattle.

"YAAAHHOOOOO!!!!" they shouted. Allen had to admit, it was quite a sight. The F-15s that had launched the projectiles ascended and left.

Foley's voice boomed in the radio, "**OKAY! SHOW'S OVER! IT'S OUR TIME TO LEAVE!!!**"

Several engines started. The Humvees and Strykers rolled on the makeshift bridge. They were now in the Red Zone. This area used to be full of people. But since of the conflict between the U.S. Rangers and the Afghan rebels, the people had left.

The houses and buildings were dilapidated. There was trash everywhere.

Foley's convoy took the left street, leading to tunnel Harvey while Allen's took the right.

Allen's radio ringed… Foley…

"**Hunter Two victors, keep an eye out for civies, we're not cleared to engage 'em unless they fire first. Scan the rooftops for hostiles. Stay frosty.**"

There was no sign of life anywhere. Yet… something moved into the alley. Allen spooled the barrels. The Humvees moved slowly... and when they had reached the alley…

"AAAAAARRRGGGHHH!!! P-Please do not shoot!!!"

"What? What is it? Enemy?" Allen asked.

"Nah, just a civie… Go! Skidadle!" replied the gunner of the Curb Stomper. And with that, the guy stumbled and ran away.

They came across a turn. One of the buildings had a balcony, where three Afghans, complete with tactical vests and balaclavas, watched.

"We've got three foot-mobiles, balcony 12 o'clock. Probable militia." Hunter 2-3 radioed.

Foley replied, "**Are they armed**?"

"Negative, they're just watchin' us…"

Corporal Dunn turned to Sergeant Arnett. "I bet they're scouting us…"

"Yeah… But that don't mean we can shoot them…"

They were now in Khaled St., where it was even trashier.

Without warning, something ricocheted off Allen's Humvee

Arnett shouted, "What in God's name—? Dunn, did you see that? Did you see what it was?"

"No, sir!"… And neither did Allen, but he knew something was up.

Another one ricocheted, this time, the private saw it! It was a bullet!

They had reached another turn; the building on the front had people on the roof, this time they had weapons and were firing at them!

The radio rang again…

"**ALL HUNTER VICTORS!!! THIS IS FOLEY!!! ENGAGE! I REPEAT, ENGAGE! WE'RE TAKING SNIPER FIRE FROM EVERY DIRECTION!!!**"

Dunn barked, "THERE THEY ARE!!! LIGHT 'EM UP!!!"

Allen pressed both buttons on the Gatling gun. The barrels rotated and sprayed 20mm bullets at militias. They went down yet one managed to launch a RPG!

**BGHLAM!!!!**

The Curb Stomper was hit! Wounded and burned Rangers retreated behind Allen's vehicle.

Allen was perspiring; his heart was beating fast again. He was used to this feeling. After all, he was a soldier.

The waves of incoming rebels were never-ending! He felt as though for every militia killed, two more replaced him. The others noticed this too…

And then… Foley gave the order.

"**There's too many of them! Back up! Back up!"**

The humvee made a turn to the right and sped away, still taking fire and still firing.

Militias were everywhere. And Allen shot them, especially ones with RPG launchers.

One was on the roof…

**BRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT—!!!**

The PFC was thrown forward. He gazed at the fore.

Their path was blocked by a Technical and the rebel was going to fire the mounted machine gun at them!

_Oh no, you don't!_

As soon as Allen fired, the enemy car was absolutely FUBAR. Arnett rammed the car at the street to the left, blocking the way of the charging rebels. He backed up and sped to the right.

Allen himself was getting riddled with bullets. Only the thin metal inside his tactical vest prevented them from boring through his body.

Another Technical was chasing them. This time, he let go of the GAU-2 and pulled his Beretta, aimed, and popped two shots to the driver and two more for the gunner. The car slammed into a dumpster

_Haha… take that you slimy fa—_

"RPG ON THE ROOF!!!"

_What? SHIT!!!_

As said by Dunn, a white trail of smoke was coming for them!

Allen hesitated whether to shoot the rocket off the air or to go down!

_WHAT TO DO!? WHAT TO DO?!! NOT AGAIN!!!!_

In the end, Allen climbed all the way onto the roof and jumped just in time!

**SWOOOOP!!! BLAGAM!!!!**

"Cough damn… cough what am I an RPG magnet?" he muttered.

Debris from the Hummer explosion hit Allen all over the body. Bullets hit the wall of the house, which he was outside of.

Sergeant Arnett held out a hand to him.

"ON YOUR FEET, SOLDIER! WE'RE STILL FIGHTING!!!"

Allen gladly took it and rushed inside the house. He grabbed a medkit from his side pocket and began bandaging his wounds.

He lost his weapons when the RPG hit the vehicle. Conveniently, there was an AK-47 and a Glock lain on the desk he was sitting on.

Allen glanced outside the window and noticed that it was a school they were across from. He rushed upstairs and was surprised to see that there were still militia inhabitants. He threw a flashbang there.

When he had finally heard the _pfoot_, he rushed upstairs and shot everyone he saw.

Sergeant Foley followed him. "Good work, private!"

He grabbed his radio and contacted Hunter 2-3.

"Hunter 2-1 to Hunter 2-3, I have eyes on the school! OVER!

"Team let's go!"

Foley kicked the fire escape door and ran down the stairs leading to the street again. The squad followed Foley. His radio beeped…

"**2-1!!! WE ARE COMBAT INEFFECTIVE HERE!!! WE'RE TAKING HEAVY FIRE FROM THE SCHOOL!!! CAN YOU ASSIST, OVER?**"

"Keep it together, 2-3. We're on our way! 2-1 out!"

Allen reloaded his rifle as they entered the school. Bullets started flying again.

The school didn't look like a school at all. The desks were out in the hallway… test papers were scattered all over the floor. And not a window that wasn't broken…

He seized his knife and rushed to the nearest enemy and slammed his knife to the guy's neck. He looted the body for more magazines for the AK but no luck. All of the pockets contained clips for the FAL.

Finally, a guy with an AK showed up. He slit his throat. He searched the pockets and found…

…

…

…

FAL clips…

_What the hell? Is the FAL standard issue?_

Out of luck, Allen took the FAL instead of searching for more AK clips.

Foley was taking cover behind a turned-over desk. "Hunter 2-3, Hunter 2-1, we're in the school… heavy resistance…"

"**Copy that, Hunter 2-1**"

The team, then, has cleared the first floor of all 'Tangos'. Allen and the grouped moved up.

Foley, because of all the loud gunfire, had to shout, "KEEP MOVIN'!!! WE NEED TO TAKE THE HEAT OF HUNTER 2-3!!!"

Pvt. Ramirez approached Allen in the stairwell, taking cover from the rebels. "Joe, take this…"

He handed him an M-79 grenade launcher or commonly know to the soldiers as, 'Thumper'.

"Thanks, Jimmy… Finally… I'll pwn…"

Allen launched a round and the enemy went down like pins from a bowling lane.

As for Pvt. Stanton, he kept on crouching then standing then crouching on the face of every man he killed.

"What the hell are ya doin' to that bastard, Stanton?" Arnett inquired.

"Well, sir… I'm teabaggin' them!"

"WELL STOP! IT'S FRIGGIN' DISTURBIN' ME!!!"

The school was now empty of enemies. Foley and Allen looked out the window. Two humvees were outside.

"**Thanks for the assist, Hunter 2-1…**"

"No prob, 2-3…"

The sergeant tuned HQ's frequency on the transceiver. "Hunter 2-1 Actual to Overlord, come in, Overlord…"

"**Hunter 2-1 Actual this is Overlord. What's the situation, over?**"

"The school is secure and the hostiles are withdrawin' from the area. We're just moppin' up now…

"**Solid copy, Hunter 2-1 Actual, proceed with caution to the rally point. Hostiles may still be in the area…**"

"Roger that Overlord. Thanks for the tip. Out."

Allen led the way to the rally point. There were still several militias lurking around yet now instead of fighting them, they were now retreating.

A guard blocked the doorway to the extraction point. Though he did not see them.

"He's mine…" said Allen…

"Go ahead, private…" Foley permitted.

Allen grabbed his knife from the sheath. Took a peek at the sentry. And in one fluid motion, ran up to the guard and gave him a double slash on the throat. He dropped to the ground, mouth gurgling with warm blood. His neck as red as ever.

"And that is how you do it…" Foley remarked, "Nicely done, Allen…"

A few more meters and they were at the E.P.

"—the wounded to the shock trauma center… use my chopper…" General Shepherd ordered to the medic.

He looked at his left and saw PFC Allen.

"Good work men! Private Allen, you'll be taking orders from me from now on. I'll brief you on the chopper… Let's go!"

Allen followed the general.

He looked at the Shepherd. The fire burning in his eyes meant something… something patriotic… He knew that Shepherd would do anything that meant victory for the U.S. of A... He really regretted helping the Russians… Allen knew that he would never trust them again, not after they backstabbed the U.S…

Allen sat beside the Shepherd. The rotor blades began spinning and the heli had lifted off.

The general spoke, "Private Allen… welcome to the C.I.A.... We have a little special operation here… this concerns a Russian by the name of Makarov… y'heard of him?"

"Yes sir… the terrorist who is the new leader of the Ultranationalist…"

"Yeah… that's the one… we need you to get close to him… Don't worry… we already set you up… Makarov thinks he's gonna get a new recruit, you. We need to take Makarov down so whatever deed he asks you to do, you must do it! It would be necessary evil…"

Allen imagined what was needed to be done… is he gonna kill a politician or a civie? Or maybe bomb a place?

"Allen, the Russian president Boris Vorshevsky says that Makarov is a terrorist… yet behind the scenes… they are secretly supporting him… the Russians want to find a loophole… er… a motive to begin a war with the U.S. They want revenge for their murdered 'hero'. Sigh the Cold War all over again…

"Allen, for this op we need you to get into character… Captain Fuller… take us to Larry's…"

The private was curious…

"Sir, where are we going?"

"Getting you Russianed"

…?

Day 2

It was 0500 hours and Private Allen is in the office of General Shepherd, his chest bare showing the new tattoo of a cathedral with 11 steps on the stairs…

His hair was different…

"So, how do I look…?"

Shepherd replied, "Like one of the bad guys… perfect for your undercover assignment…."

"So Makarov is the prize…"

"Makarov's no prize… he's a whore… a killer for the highest bidder… Just remember your new name, Alexei Borodin, and you'll be fine…"

Allen, or Borodin, nodded.

"You've been transferred to the One-Four-One, a multinational special operations force. Welcome…"

The General gave the badge. Allen looked at it. The emblem consisted of a skull on the top. A S.A.S. emblem look-alike beneath it. Superimposed on a spade. And then, it was surrounded by olive leaves.

Beneath the emblem, was the word 'Mole'…

"Ermm… Mole? Sir?" curiosity got the best of Allen.

"The Task Force does not use the real names of its members. It uses codenames, and yours is… Mole."

"Oh… well… it's an honor, sir… when do I meet the rest of the team?"

"They're on a mission… Last week, one of the North American Aerospace Defence Command (NORAD)'s satellites crash-landed to Earth. We didn't know where… we've been tracking the ACS module for days…"

"ACS?"

"ACS stands for Attack Characterization System. It's the most important thing inside that satellite 'cause it detects whether some bogies are headed for U.S.A. One of the main reasons why the Russians never attempted to invade us back in the Cold War… because we could've easily intercepted them. Nothing can get inside American airspace because of the ACS… and as I was saying… we've been trackin' it and we've found where it is…

It landed in the Tian Shan Mountain Range in Kazakhstan… and its been captured by Russian Ultranationalists and delivered it to their airbase…"

"That's not good… is it?"

"Not a bit, Allen…We don't want these bastards tamperin' with our technology… that's why we gotta get it back… why the Task Force has to get it back…"

"They're in Kazakhstan right now?"

"Yep… they're there freezing their asses off…."


	3. Cliffhanger

Day 2

It was 0500 hours and Private Allen is in the office of General Shepherd, his chest bare showing the new tattoo of a cathedral with 11 steps on the stairs…

His hair was different…

"So, how do I look…?"

Shepherd replied, "Like one of the bad guys… perfect for your undercover assignment…."

"So Makarov is the prize…"

"Makarov's no prize… he's a whore… a killer for the highest bidder… Just remember your new legal name, Alexei Borodin, and you'll be fine…"

Allen, or Borodin, nodded.

"You've been transferred to the One-Four-One, a multinational special operations force. Welcome…"

The General gave the badge. Allen looked at it. The emblem consisted of a skull on the top. A S.A.S. emblem look-alike beneath it. Superimposed on a spade. And then, it was surrounded by olive leaves.

Beneath the emblem, was the word 'Mole'…

"Ermm… Mole? Sir?" curiosity got the best of Allen.

"The Task Force does not use the real names of its members. It uses codenames, and yours is… Mole."

"Oh… well… it's an honor, sir… when do I meet the rest of the team?"

"They're on a mission… Last week, one of the North American Aerospace Defence Command (NORAD)'s satellites crash-landed to Earth. We didn't know where… we've been tracking the ACS module for days…"

"ACS?"

"ACS stands for Attack Characterization System. It's the most important thing inside that satellite 'cause it detects whether some bogies are headed for U.S.A. One of the main reasons why the Russians never attempted to invade us back in the Cold War… because we could've easily intercepted them. Nothing can get inside American airspace because of the ACS… and as I was saying… we've been trackin' it and we've found where it is…

It landed in the Tian Shan Mountain Range in Kazakhstan… and its been captured by Russian Ultranationalists and delivered it to their airbase…"

"That's not good… is it?"

"Not a bit, Allen…We don't want these bastards tamperin' with our technology… that's why we gotta get it back… why the Task Force has to get it back…"

"They're in Kazakhstan right now?"

"Yep… they're there freezing their asses off…."

Day 2

05:12:06

'Roach' Sanderson sat down on the ice. He and Captain MacTavish were on the protruding part of the frozen cliff. The snow fell hard.

Roach took another sip of his coffee from the thermos he brought as he recalled how he and his commanding officer were dropped down the freezing sea by a Chinook transport. Then, they had to swim to the cliff which they had to scale 40 feet before taking a break.

Captain MacTavish's cigar's fire was out. He threw it down to the water below and stood up. "Break's over, Roach…Let's go…"

He started sidestepping on the ledge while hugging the face of the cliff; after all, he didn't want to fall down to the watery grave beneath them.

MacTavish pulled out his ice picks and hit the ice behind him.

"Stay here and spot for me… Do not start climbing till I give you my go…"

Roach concurred. His captain started climbing. The ice did not crack.

"Okay, Roach. The ice is good here. Follow me."

He pulled out his pair of 'Ice Axes' as he prefer to call them. He thrust his right ice pick and pulled himself up with the other, hitting the upper part of the ice. He did this alternately. The good captain had already reached the top and was pulling himself up when—

**WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSHHH!!!!!**

A MiG had flown past just three meters above them! The ice cracked and MacTavish had almost fallen if it weren't for the ice pick buried in the ice!

"CRAP!!!"

He pulled himself up, again. After a minute, Roach was at the top.

"At least that MiG didn't see us…" murmured the captain.

MacTavish then pointed to another protruding part of the cliff which had a gap between the one they were on and the other one.

"I'll see you on the far side, mate. Good luck…"

He backed up and ran as fast as he could and at the edge, jumped. He managed to cling on the side of the cliff.

It was Roach's turn. Like MacTavish, he sprinted to the edge and jumped.

He missed! He held his ice pick forward, trying to hang on the face. Yet, the ice pick only pierced the ice shallowly! It started to crack and he was sliding down! He hit the ice with the other ice pick but no luck! He was going to fall! With only one axe stopping him from falling, Roach was panicking. Hoping that the ice wouldn't break.

"HOLD ON!!! DON'T LET GO!!!"

Then the unthinkable happened. The ice broke, freeing the ice pick. But instead of Roach plummeting down and being killed, he was still up there, alive.

His captain had snatched his arm, just seconds after he broke off…

He threw Roach to the wall of the ledge next to him. Roach hit the ice with his axe, this time with much more force. He jabbed the left axe higher.

When he had made it to the top, he immediately laid on the ice, panting.

"Never again… pant never… pant… again…" he mumbled.

"Oi, Roach… stop that… stand up…" he demanded as he took his M21 semi-automatic sniper rifle off his back.

Gary Sanderson stopped panting and stood up. He arranged his goggles, which he loves to wear. In fact, he never takes it off…

He grabbed his silenced M4A1 and opened the heartbeat sensor which was attached to the side. The sensor showed two white dots in the area. That was he and MacTavish.

"Roach, as you can see, the sensor acts like a radar. We are the blue dots. Why blue, you ask? It's because of the personal electric pulse beacon we're both wearing. It marks us as allies… and any unrecognized contacts will show up as white dots. Remember, the sensor covers an area of five meters." MacTavish explained.

After a few minutes of stealthy walking, they were now in the vicinity of the secluded air base. The two sat behind a boulder. Roach's heartbeat sensor showed two white dots above theirs, with a distance of two meters between them.

MacTavish looked at him. He fixed his jacket and whispered to Roach, "You take the one on the left. On three…"

They leaned on the boulder and aimed down the sights of their weapons.

"One…"

Roach's target lit a cigarette, not knowing it would be his last.

"Two…"

Smoke came out of his mouth…

"Three…"

The bullets bored through their heads like a pair of drill bits. They fell down on the snow, which reddened immediately.

"Nicely done, laddie…"

They stepped over the bodies. Roach grabbed the Steyr AUG which one of the guards held. He always liked the AUG HBAR.

"Be careful about picking up enemy weapons, Roach" the officer warned, "any unsuppressed firearm will attract a lot of attention."

He was right, Roach knew. Anyway, the mission is the number one priority and Roach won't do anything to hamper the plan. He quickly replaced it.

Another two white dots were detected by the sensor.

"These muppets have no idea we're here… same plan, I go with the right—"

Before MacTavish could even finish his sentence, Roach had already shot them dead.

"Then again, maybe not…" the captain stated.

They walked further towards the base as the snow fell harder.

"The storm's brewin' up, Roach…"

Captain MacTavish climbed up a hill, which was actually composed of snow.

"Roach, I'll stay here and use my thermal scope to provide overwatch. Use the cover of the storm to enter the base. You'll be a ghost in this blizzard. So, the guards won't see you until your very close. Good luck…"

"Roger…"

Roach walked behind a lorry. He saw a guard wandering around. He grasped his knife, and very stealthily, walked up to him and slit his throat. He slowly placed the corpse on the snow. He was now at the door of one of the Quonset huts. The heartbeat sensor showed one white dot near the table and one was standing near the door of the other room.

Within a second, the Russians were shot dead.

Roach's radio earpiece beeped, "Roach, I tapped into their comms… What I want you to do is head southwest and plant a C4 at the fueling station. We may need to go to 'Plan B' if things go south."

"Roger…"

He exited the first hut and entered the one adjacent to it. Inside was an armed personnel sitting on a steel chair, sleeping. Roach used his pistol on this one.

"Good night…" MacTavish whispered.

Sanderson looked at his GPS. There was a yellow dot blinking on the southwest corner. He proceeded to walk towards it.

**PLEEP!!!!**

Something hit the snow behind him. He bent down to see what it was but then…

**PLEEP!!!!**

_AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!!!_ Roach shouted in his head. Something painful had entered his back! _Shite!!!_

"ROACH!!! QUICK, HIDE!!! YOU'RE UNDER ATTACK!!!"

Roach hid inside one of the huts. He checked his back. He was bleeding.

"Roach, check yer heartbeat sensor. Where's the sniper?"

Roach groaned as he grabbed his medkit. He looked at the M4A1 attachment.

"Sir, he's up in the ridge. East of my position."

"Roger, Roach…"

MacTavish got up from where he was and walked to where Roach had said where the sniper was. It was really troubling looking out for enemies since the blizzard did not only hinder the visions of guards, it also hindered his, too. And also, he didn't have a heartbeat sensor. He drew his silenced USP.45 and his Tatang and went into the Harries technique by holding his pistol with his right hand and holding the knife with his left under the gun. Finally, he had seen the silhouette of the sniper. He aimed at the head and pulled the trigger.

The figure was still standing. He approached it. It was nothing more than a snowman! A decoy!

"What in— Arrgghh!" Something had tackled MacTavish from behind! He dropped his pistol and knife. The captain knew that it was the sniper since he carried a silenced Dragunov rifle with a thermal scope.

The Russian pulled out a knife and went on top of him and tried to stab him. But MacTavish quickly grabbed him by the wrist, trying to stop the tango from killing him. It was Scotsman vs. Russian. The sniper was very strong. MacTavish was in trouble. The knife was getting nearer to his heart.

Suddenly, the pressure from the sniper's hand had lifted. Warm liquid dripped on the captain's face. MacTavish wiped it off. It was blood.

He looked at the sniper. There was a hole in his head and the snow beneath him was drenched with blood. MacTavish looked at himself. No knife stuck…

He looked behind him. Roach was there with his M4A1 aimed.

"Did I shoot the right guy?" he asked.

"Yeah, thanks, laddie…" MacTavish expressed his gratitude for saving his life, "now proceed to the fueling station."

MacTavish lay down on the snow and positioned his M21 on a bipod.

Roach had reached a tarmac. There around seven unmanned MiGs on it.

"Roach, the fueling station is just across your position."

He was at the middle of the runway when the heartbeat sensor beeped. _What the?_

He contacted MacTavish, "Sir, the pulse sensor beeped…"

"What? That only does that when there are… ROACH! Quick! Set the C4 and get off the tarmac! Twenty plus foot-mobiles are in your area!"

Roach ran quietly and placed the bomb on the fuel tank. He ran across the tarmac again and hid behind one of the concrete barriers. He heard several boots tapping on the runway. Most of the soldiers were talking and laughing.

"Okay… good… I'm picking up radio traffic… they're talking about the satellite… it sounds like the sat's in the far right hangar. I'll race you there. Oscar Mike. Out."

"Roger. Out."

Roach sneaked behind a two-man patrol resting near a lorry.

He had reached the said hangar. He went around the back and there he saw Captain MacTavish sitting on a barrel waiting for him.

"Took the scenic route, eh?" asked the Scotsman.

Both approached the door. Roach noticed a large hole in the fence, which his captain entered through.

MacTavish twisted the knob and entered the hangar. Roach followed and closed the door. They were now in a locker room, a small one that is…

A guard entered the room but failed to notice the two. He proceeded to one of the lockers. MacTavish grabbed his knife and rammed him into the locker. Dazed, the Russian dropped to the floor. He tried to get his pistol but was instantly stabbed in the neck by MacTavish. They went inside the room where the guard exited.

The hangar was empty except for a burnt device which looked like it used to be a satellite.

"Roach, go upstairs and look for the ACS module." MacTavish told as he looked at the satellite.

Roach ran up the stairs and into an office. At the end of the room, a computer sat on a desk. Next to it was a router-like device. The ACS module.

He took it and placed it inside a bulletproof bag, specially-made for the mission as not to damage the device.

Roach headed for the door. He heard metal clang. The hangar doors have opened.

He stopped and leaned on the wall.

"Captain?" he asked.

"Roach, I've been compromised." MacTavish said calmly, "Keep a low profile and hold your fire."

Roach went into a prone position and slowly crawled out of the office and onto the platform that connected with the stairwell. He hid behind the boxes and peeked.

Several AK-47s and AUG HBARs were pointed towards the captain, whose hands were raised.

One of the Russians was holding a Nagant revolver and a megaphone. Roach could tell that he was the officer of the squadron.

The officer raised his megaphone and his voice boomed on it, "THIS IS MAJOR PETROV! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP! YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO COMPLY!!!"

Roach heard several guns being cocked.

"FIVE!!!" yelled the officer.

Roach's earpiece beeped, "Roach, go to Plan B."

"FOUR!"

"Roger, sir…"

"THREE!!!"

Roach brought out the detonator to the C4.

"TWO!!!"

He pushed the button.

"ON—

**BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!**

All of the Russians turned around to see what had happened. A fireball had formed just 143 meters behind them. But this was their folly.

Every single Russian inside the hangar had been given a bullet to the head.

Roach ran to MacTavish.

"STAY CLOSE AND HUG THE WALL!!!!" MacTavish ordered as he planned their escape. "Ahah! We'll use the MiGs for cover and cross the tarmac to the southeast!"

He then ran out of the hangar and ran straight towards the runway. He took cover behind a burning car the soldiers had used.

"Roach! Head to that MiG! I'll cover ye…"

Roach made a run for it. Somehow, the enemy soldiers knew that they would take cover there and shot the gas tanks.

The jet exploded. Forcing Roach to take cover behind a concrete barrier beside the burning mass of iron.

As if the soldiers with high-powered rifles weren't enough, snowmobiles appeared out of nowhere.

"Roach! Snowmobiles! Take them out!"

Mactavish took out one of his icepick and slammed it into the chest of the driver of the incoming mobile, knocking off both the driver and the gunner. The snowmobile stopped a few meters behind Roach.

Roach, meanwhile, drew out his silenced USP and stood right on the path of the snowmobile and shot the soldier. Roach rolled out of the way of the vehicle just in time.

"Roach, take that snowmobile and get out of here!"

He slung the M4 and boarded the mobile and rode down hill. Several enemy snowmobiles appear behind Roach. He took out his Glock 18, which was placed in his rear holster, and fired upon the Russians. They tumbled down.

MacTavish was right beside him. Roach looked at his wrist GPS. The yellow marker was 23 kilometers away.

MacTavish contacted their rescue, "Kilo Six-One, this is Bravo Six, The primary exfil point has been compromised! We're en route to the backup LZ using enemy transport! Meet us there! Over!"

The chopper pilot replied, "Roger that, Bravo Six, over and out."

The two accelerated through klicks of forests. Roach looked at his GPS again.

Still 15 kilometers…

Abruptly, the sound of rotor blades rotating echoed throughout the valley. Roach looked back. A missile was headed for him! He turned the mobile to the right, barely evading the explosion! The source of the missile was now in front of them. It was a Mi-28 attack helicopter.

"ROACH! EVADE THE MISSILES! KEEP MOVING OR YOU'RE DEAD!!!"

The two of them, followed by a cluster of enemy-piloted skimobiles, jumped over a small hill and crash-landed on a frozen lake. Fortunately for them, the ice was very strong. As they sped through the cliff, the land started to narrow and led to a mountain.

It was getting harder getting away from the Russians.

Finally, they had reached the peak. They were now going downhill. Roach need not accelerate for gravity was doing its part. Wind gushed on his face.

The pilot contacted the skipper, "Bravo Six! We're at bingo fuel! I repeat we have to land or we'll reach the point of no return. Over."

"ROGER!!!"

Roach was surprised at what the land came to. It narrowed even more; it came to a thin bridge of ice! At the other side was another cliff and there waited the helicopter.

He doubted whether the bridge would hold.

All of a sudden, the Mi-28 reappeared and launched a Swatter and destroyed the connection of the two cliffs!

"NO!!!" MacTavish screamed in horror. Now there was no way of getting to their rescue! Unless…

"ROACH!!! ACCELERATE!!! WE'LL USE THE ICE AS A RAMP!"

_A bloody shard of ice as a ramp? Are you daft…?_

Roach had no choice… it was rescue or bust. He avoided the last tree and closed his eyes, hoping that they would make it.


	4. No Russian

Note: Sorry for not updating for so long… my pc was reformatted… had to retype all…

Day 2

13:55:21

Alexei Borodin knocked on the submarine cabin's door.

"Come in…" said a weary voice.

He opened the door and entered. Inside, a war-weary old man with akimbo 44. magnum revolvers drawn approached him.

The old man spun his guns as though he was back in the Wild West.

"Whad'dya think of this, Allen?" he asked.

"That's very cool, General." He answered, "erm… you wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yeah… your teammates made it and brought in the ACS. Two men destroyed an entire base. I ask much more for you now. Yesterday, you were a soldier from the front lines. But now, the front lines are history. Uniforms are relics. The war rages everywhere. And there will be casualties. Makarov is fighting his own war and he has no rules. No boundaries. He doesn't flinch at torture or genocide. He says he's only loyal to one flag and that is Russia… But I say he's not loyal to any country or any idea…He's only faithful to money. Blood money…and he's your new best friend… You don't know how many agents it has already cost to put you right next to him… It will cost you a piece of yourself… maybe not physically but mentally… but it will cost nothing to everything you'll save…

"We entered the Caspian Sea two hours ago and we're now approachin' Moscow… just wanted you to get ready… Lev, our informant, said that you'll meet Makarov at the cough Zakhaev International Airport instead of the train station for no apparent reason…"

Alexei noticed that Shepherd was uncomfortable with saying 'Zakhaev', the name of the man who cost Shepherd the trust of the American people.

"Oh… okay… sir…"

"I want you to get into character immediately… remember to ALWAYS speak Russian…"

"Yes, sir…"

"ETA two hours… you may return to your cabin…"

Allen nodded and retreated back to his chamber.

Viktor was losing patience. Makarov said that the new recruit would be at the café at 5 o'clock sharp.

It was 5:32.

"_Vladimir, you're sure he'll still show up?_"

Makarov replied, "_Da, comrade… do not fret… he is just thirty minutes late…_"

"_Alright then… anything you say…_"

Viktor sipped more of his black coffee. It was bitter…

Just like waiting… bitter…

He watched as the civilians walked past them and order drinks for themselves and sit on the tables beside them. The ones with partners would drink their beverages and droll about how good the latest film was. The others who were alone would take out a book, usually American literature, and read.

This angered Viktor… the people who read such books should be dragged and shot. They were betraying everything Russia stands for…

He looked at Vladimir Makarov, he was as calm as ever… Viktor was shocked… Vladimir was the one who stood up for the Russian people… and now he let them read about Americans!

But he supposed that Makarov was trying to stay in character…

Viktor kept groaning and Makarov had had enough… He took out his mobile phone, together with the headset, and gave it to him…

"_Something to calm you down, Viktor…_" 

Viktor placed the headset on his ears. It was a song with lyrics composed of nothing but, '_trololololo_'s and '_yayayaya_'s. He knew immediately what song it was…

"Я очень рад. ведь я. наконец. возвращаюсь домой" by Eduard Khil… "_I am very glad because I am going back home_"

He sung along to it.

At long last, a man of about his twenties approached their table.

"_Vladimir Makarov?_" he asked

"_FINALLY!_" roared Viktor. "_We thought you'd never show up!_"

"_Da… and you must be Alexei…_" Vladimir reached out his hand. Borodin took and shook it.

"_Lev has said many things about you…He says that you want to help us…_"

"_Da, Comrade Vladimir…_"

"_Very well, my friend, take a look at this place… tomorrow we will return here and we will send our message…_"

Borodin looked around… the Russian airport was no different from an

American…

_Wait… did he say tomorrow?_

"_Tomorrow, comrade?_"

"_Da, the sooner we send out the message, the better…_"

Shepherd didn't give him any details. In fact, Allen didn't know what the message they were gonna make was…

"_Comrade Alexei, Comrade Viktor, follow me… We'll discuss the details back at the hotel…_"

The three of them walked out the glass doors of the airport and saw a Volvo waiting for them. They all got in and a Comrade Anatoly drove them.

The hotel turned out to be a derelict office building. They took the stairs up to the fifth floor. There, the walls were filled with weapons; the floor was filled with spent bullet casings and boxes full of ammo served as improvised beds.

A whiteboard was standing in the middle of the whole storey. The blueprints of the airport were taped on it.

"_Comrade Sacha… Explain the details to our newest comrade… Alexei Borodin…_"

Sacha gave a half-nod as a gesture to Allen...

It was around midnight when they had finally finished going over the plan. Alexei was very tired. He hadn't had a rest since he climbed out of the submarine…

He went inside the restroom to brush his teeth. It was rarely used, he could tell since it the dirt was an inch thick, or at least this restroom was. He got a wad of tissue paper and wiped the filth off the mirror.

His blue eyes gleamed on it. There was a knock on the door. Allen turned and saw Sacha.

"_Good Evening, Comrade…_" he greeted Borodin.

"_Same to you, Sacha…_"

Sacha made sure that there was no one around but them…

"So… you're the guy who Shepherd sent?"

Sacha suddenly changed his tone and volume of voice to a hushed whisper. And to Allen's surprise, his language became English.

Allen was alarmed by this. Was his cover blown? "_What?!! I do not know what you mean, Comrade_"

"Don't worry, Allen… I'm American… C.I.A. agent…I am Shepherd's contact… The thirteenth actually… All my predecessors died trying to gain 'Comrade Vladimir's trust…"

"Huh…No shit? So tomorrow we hit the airport?"

"Yeah… I just hope I don't have a breakdown…"

"Breakdown?"

"I have a fear of the sight of blood."

"Oh…Well, good luck…"

Sacha went on to his bunk .Allen finished brushing and lay on his makeshift bed.

He stared at the yellowish-white ceiling. He imagined what will happen tomorrow. He hoped that God will forgive him for what he was about to do…

Day 3

Allen thought he had woken up early. After all, it was only 5:27. Yet when he sat up to stretch, Makarov and his men were already preparing their weapons, which were all American-made. Vladimir loaded his M16 while Viktor dry fired his M240.

He saw Sacha glare at the rifle. He was afraid to use it on another human being.

Makarov noticed Borodin was up, so he called to him.

"_Comrade… No… wait… let me go into character… _My friend, you should get ready…"

Alexei also switched to speaking English yet retained the Russo accent.

"Yes, Yur— I mean Calvin…"

Makarov smiled… he ordered them all to create a name which in any way would not be identified as Russian. His was Calvin.

Allen put on his suit as the others put their equipment inside gym bags. They put the gym bags in the back of a Ford Expedition. Anatoly entered the driver's seat. Viktor sat in the front passenger seat. Alexei, Vladimir and Lev sat in the middle.

As Anatoly drove, Makarov reminded some details. "Remember, our contact will be a security guard wearing an Eduard Khil cap. So when the time comes, do not engage."

Anatoly parked the car in the rear parking lot and stayed there. Sacha/Sykes and Alexei/Joe withdrew the gym bags from the trunk. They went to the fire exit. A guard approached them.

"_Can I help you, sir?_"

Makarov responded, "I am sorry, I do not understand…"

His winked and so did the guard. There was a ten-second pause.

"Please pardon me, sir… you may proceed…"

The guard pushed open the fire exit and they went downstairs to a carpark. Allen wondered why the alarm did not go off…

They entered an elevator. Makarov pushed the G button. They put the gym bags down. They unzipped them and brought out several bulletproof vests.

"Here…" Makarov handed one to Borodin. Alexei wore it.

Next, he brought out gloves. Everyone was given except Allen.

"Calvin, I don't hav—"

"Don't worry… you don't have to."

Allen nodded. He remembered what his general had said… 'Just do what he tells you and you'll be fine…'

Allen was given a M240 Squad Automatic Weapon. The one the Rangers, and so did some other divisions, dubbed as the 'Rambo gun'.

It was loaded with 100 NATO bullets. One short pull of the trigger would actually release some five bullets.

Sacha was flinching; Makarov did not see.

"Remember… NO RUSSIAN…" he jogged their memory. "_God is with us…_"

**TING!**

The elevator doors opened. Outside was Gate 7. A line of civilians were waiting to be boarded on the airplane. The guys stepped out of the elevator. The civies looked at them strangely.

The guards there were confused. The men were awfully armed with weapons so large…

"_Oi, Ivan, were we expecting any VIPs today?_" one officer said to another.

"_Not that I know of… maybe their __**shooting**__ a film? Oooh… maybe Nikola Romanov is there! _"

"_Yeah! But wait… I don't see any camer—_"

**!!!!**

**BRRRRTTTT!!!!!**

**TEEEREEETTEEERRREEETTT!!!!**

**BAGASH! BAGASH! BAGASH!**

**!!!!**

Countless civilians were mowed down. Screams of those upstairs who heard the gunshots reverberated throughout the airport.

They ran up the escalators and began firing at the screaming people. Many ran to try and hide inside an open bookstore but failed miserably. Makarov had shot a grenade round inside. Burned papers and books flew in every direction. One wounded struggled to get away but was mercilessly shot in the back.

The floor was no longer navy blue but dark red. Makarov observed that Sacha was not doing the ordered task.

"Sykes… why aren't you shooting them…?" he asked in an intimidating tone.

Sacha stuttered… "Ca- Calvin… I am sorry… I- I cannot kill an innocent person!"

He closed his eyes, awaiting his execution. Yet instead of that…

"Very well…" Makarov replied.

Sykes opened his eyes in disbelief… He breathed a sigh of relief… he was sure he would be killed.

…

…

…

…

…

…

And he was right…

**BLAM!**

Makarov had drawn a Beretta and ended his pitiful life.

"I have no patience for cowards…" he said without care and did an about face then continued to shoot more cowering

Allen looked at his corpse.

"Joe, take his weapon." Makarov said imperatively. Allen bent down to take the M4 Grenadier.

**BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!** The security guards have alerted the Russian civil police! They carried riot shields!

Bullets hit Makarov's vest and rebounded.

"HMPF!" he snorted. He loaded the Thumper and launched a round in their direction.

**!!!!**

The Russian Militsiya, or at least what's left of them, scattered everywhere. The shields were shattered.

Allen saw through the windows, about a hundred Internal Troops gathered outside, awaiting their exit.

"They're on time… Check your weapons and ammo…" Makarov reloaded.

Viktor sniggered. "I HAVE WAITED A LONG TIME FOR THIS!"

"Haven't we all?"

Noises of flicking sounded. He looked at the departure board. All statuses scrolled down from 'On time' or 'Boarding' to 'Cancelled'.

"This is for Zakhaev…" Vlad Makarov had always treated Imran Zakhaev a god.

They went through an emergency exit as bullets swiped past their heads.

**BLOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSHHH!**

A sniper had grazed Lev.

"CHYORT! Slovoch almost got me!" he yelled in anger, forgetting the plan.

"LIAN!" Makarov roared.

"Sorry…"

As more troops drew near, Allen and the others lugged grenades at them.

**GAAHHH!! OWWWW!!! NYEEEETTT!!!!** They shouted…

Allen took a riot shield and ran up to the law enforcers and bashed them, making them stumble. Moving quickly, he gunned them down before they could even realize what happened.

"Joseph, head to the car park!" Calvin cried out. He fired more at the Russian S.W.A.T..

The sniper fired at them. Allen saw where he was because of his muzzle flash. He fired an M203 round inside where he was. He heard a scream…

"_CHYO_—!"

**BBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!**

The sniper fell out. Allen went under an airplane then went right to the entryway to the car lot and gave covering fire for the rest of the team.

"Thank you…" Calvin graciously thanked.

Makarov kicked the door open and checked if someone was inside.

"CLEAR!"

At the end of the parking lot, an ambulance had blocked an exit. They came close to it and stopped as Makarov signaled with his hand.

Someone looked out of the ambulance's door window. He nodded at Makarov and pushed the access open.

"Good! You all made it!" Anatoly exclaimed, "We sent a strong message with this attack, Vlad."

Lev sat on the far right corner. Kiril on the left. Viktor on the middle.

Makarov climbed on and waited for Allen. He held out his right hand to help him get on. He grabbed something from behind with the left.

He replied to what Anatoly said. "That was no message…"

"Huh?"

Makarov had brought out something he shared his name with… the Makarov PM.

Allen went up the step and his eyes met with the barrel of the pistol.

"Wha—?"

**BVLLLOOOOOOO!!!!**

Allen fell out of the van, grasping his abdomen.

"This is a message…" he closed the doors and the shocked others in the ambulance drove away.

Allen tried to apply pressure on the wound though it was of no use… His bleeding was far too great. He could feel the blood seeping through the wound.

He groaned pathetically. He could still hear Makarov's voice ringing in his ear.

"The American spies thought they could deceive me. When they find that body, all of Russia will cry for war…"

Allen's vision was fading to white. He swore that he could still see a troop coming to him. Checking him for his pulse.

Allen closed his eyes and breathed his last breath. Death had come to him and he openly embraced him. And at that moment, death had become him…

MacTavish and the rest of team were back in their submarine. Roach sat on the chair and remote-controlled the television.

The Jerry Springer show was on.

MacTavish went into the latrine. He looked at himself in the mirror. He touched the scar below his right eye, the gift from the civil war five years ago. He removed his bonnet and revealed his Mohawk.

His 5 o'clock shadow was thicker.

"My stubble is needin' shaved…" he said. He heard footsteps near him. He looked out of the door and saw a young lady around her twenties surprised by him.

"Huh? Oh… hello, Captain…" she said to him.

He answered back with a simple, "Hello, Sergeant Nirent… where are ye headed?"

"I'm going to watch the telly with Roach, sir…"

"Ahh… well, go ahead…"

"Thank you, sir…"

He saw Erin sit beside Roach.

MacTavish went back in the bathroom. He brought out some shaving cream and a straight razor. He preferred to use them than the safety ones. He heard Roach chuckle. What could be so funny in The Jerry Springer show?

He sprayed some shaving cream on his palm and lathered it all over his stubble.

Roach slouched on the chair.

Jerry Springer was talking to the contestants when he was interrupted by someone off-camera.

"The thing is Diane, he doesn't lov— What?"

The person said something to the host.

"Oh, Okay… our show will be interrupted momentarily."

The screen faded to black and the usual graphical intro of Breaking News Alert rolled in as a male voice spoke to the viewers.

"We interrupt your daily program to bring you a breaking news bulletin!"

A woman in a red dress sat in front of the camera.

"Good Afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am Honey Lamarck broadcasting from Fox studios bringing you breaking news..."

She looked at the paper that was give to her by a man... her eyes widened as if in shock.

"Moscow has been attacked! I repeat, Moscow has been attacked! Just a few hours ago, a group of terrorists came barging in the airport doors and fired upon the civilians!"

She took another glance at the paper.

"FSB or Internal Troops from Russia said they have the bodies of two of the killed members of the group. They have been identified as soldiers, Private First Class Joseph Allen and Sergeant Sykes Finley sent by..."

And another glance... Her eyes were now as big as stress balls.

"... The United States of America..."

Erin blurted out the coffee she was drinking. "WHAT?!!"

Even MacTavish who was in the middle of shaving was now at their back, shocked.

Miss Lamarck stared at the camera. "We have been sent a video feed from Moscow..."

The view changed to a man, Boris Vorshevsky, walkind down a corrider and being flocked with Press people. Their voices were dubbed to English.

"Mr. President! What can you say about this massacre...?" One of the journalists asked.

Boris turned to him and said coldly, "What can I say? WHAT CAN I SAY?!!! THIS IS WHAT I SAY! THE AMERICANS WERE NOT CONTENTED BY KILLING OUR COMRADES BACK IN THE CIVIL WAR... OUR CIVIL WAR... THEY HAD TO INTERERE! NOW, THEY MERCILESSLY MURDER OUR FAMILIES IN COLD BLOOD! NOT A WOMAN OR CHILD WAS SPARED IN THIS ACT OF EVIL!"

"Now that we have learned that the Americans had done this, what will the government do?"

"WHAT THE GOVERNMENT WILL DO IS NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, BUT I WILL TELL YOU THIS, THOSE WHO ARE RESPONSIBLE WILL PAY DEARLY!"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"YOU WILL LEARN…

He paused for a moment then said…

"Soon enough..."

The screen went back to Honey Lamarck with a confused expression. She nodded to the camera and they went back to Jerry Springer.

One-Four-One's 'silent killer' Ghost passed by them and sat next to Erin. It was a rare moment for he wasn't using his skull-patterned balaclava.

"What…? What's happened?" he asked.

Nirent looked up to his scarred yet still attractive face. "America's screwed."


	5. Takedown

MacTavish looked at his comrades. They were stumped.

"How could the U.S. do that? I mean it's unbelievable!" Erin shouted in defense of her homeland.

An old, rusty voice responded. "Believe it, sergeant…"

Erin looked at the source of the voice. The three of them stood up, chests out, and saluted.

Shepherd waved them off. "At ease, soldiers…"

They sat down again.

"As I was saying, Moscow WAS attacked by America."

"WHAT?" yelled Ghost.

"Yes… But it wasn't supposed to look like that. Finley and Allen were C.I.A. operatives. Also, Allen was one of you. They were supposed to do surveillance on Makarov by gaining his trust but as you can see it failed miserably. Moscow was attacked by America but we didn't launch the attack ourselves."

"Aye, mates… Allen joined Makarov's group the same day Roach and I were in Kazakhstan. He died a day later. Somehow Makarov knew Allen wasn't genuine. He knew that he was our mole. I bet that he took the chance so that Russia would blame us and not him." The captain explained

Ghost slammed his fist to his palm. "Sonuvabitch!"

"My sentiments exactly…" Shepherd uttered. "Captain, arrange a group of at least six soldiers and meet me in the deck. I have a mission for you…"

"Aye, sir!" 

An hour later, Mactavish, Ghost, Roach, Meat, Royce, and Coachman went to the said deck.

Shepherd was waiting for them as he looked at the screen of the laptop. The team had a look at it, too. The pictures of the grizzly carnage was on the screen. Total silence until it was broken by Ghost's Cockney accented voice.

"The Russians ain't gonna let this massacre go unanswered. It's gonna get bloody."

MacTavish agreed. "Too right, mate. Now in the eyes of the world they're the victims. No one's gonna say a word when they club every American they can reach."

Shepherd shifted the picture to that of Allen's corpse and said, "Makarov was one step ahead of us. Now he's left a thousand bodies at the feet of two Americans."

"Yeah… we're the only ones who knew it was Makarov's op. Our credibility died with Allen and Finley. We need proof."

Shepherd pointed something near Allen's shoe. A bullet casing. "Follow the shell…" he said.

The screen zoomed to the bullet and started finding traces of where it was manufactured. It finished searching and it moved to the map and showed Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Then, a picture of a man in a cap and a black chap beside him were illustrated. They were labeled as Alejandro Rojas and 'Rojas'Assistant'.

"Alejandro Rojas…"

MacTavish knew the face but not the name…

"Never heard of him, sir…"

"You know him better as Alex the Red… He supplied the assault."

_Aha!_ Thought MacTavish, he was always named Alex the Red in the news. A weapons dealer and militia leader, he's been wanted by Interpol for years.

"One bullet to unleash a fury of a whole nation…" he stated, "Which means…"

Shepherd cut in, "He's our ticket to Makarov…"

Day 4

Near Rio de Janeiro

04:01:37

It was a day later; they arrived at a submarine pen. All seven men got out of the sub.

"Where are we, sir?" asked MacTavish.

"Just a few miles off of Rio… you'll get there by chopper. Afterwards, you'll stakeout these militiamen."

He showed him a photo of three unusually-dressed men entering a white van.

"Who're they, sir?"

"Well, MacTavish, let's just say that these guys have to collect a debt from Rojas' assistant. The li'l fellow's actually a total pain in the ass for some of them. Rojas just waves off their complaints."

"Aye, sir… and we just follow them and they'll lead us to the bastard?"

"Yes…"

Ghost smiled underneath his trademark balaclava. "Easy as pie… Let's do this!"

What Ghost had said rang a bell for MacTavish.

"What did you say just now, Ghost?"

"Eh? What?" Ghost turned to face him.

"What you just said…"

"Let's do this?" he said his catch phrase again.

"Yeah…"

"Uhmm… why?"

"Nuthin'! It's just you remind me of someone…" MacTavish calmly said while the image of Gaz passed by in his mind.

Ghost tried to walk away but was tapped in the back by MacTavish.

"What is it now, Soap?"

"You're **ABSOLUTELY** sure you're not Gaz?"

Ghost was really irritated. MacTavish has been asking him these questions for years. The truth is he didn't know who Gaz was.

"Who the bloody hell is Gaz?"

MacTavish grinned and spoke, "Nevermind…"

Ghost shrugged and got off the sub.

Just minutes after going over the plans, their transport arrived, a Little Bird chopper. MacTavish sat beside Ghost and Roach on the right sill, facing outwards. The rest of the team sat on the opposite sill.

They whirred above the highways. The Christ the Redeemer, or '_O Cristo Redentor_' as they called it in Portuguese, was getting larger as they neared their destination.

The landing zone was reached faster than Roach expected. They got off and looked around. It seemed that no one would've noticed since the place was very secluded.

Two cars were waiting for them.

The men gathered with MacTavish and awaited his orders. "Alright, guys… Roach and Coachman'll go with me. We'll take the white Honda. You know the plan, right?"

Meat raised his hand.

"Yes, Meat?"

"Sir, could you repeat the plan?"

"Goddamn, Meat! I've reiterated the freakin' plan for you for seven times in the past two hours!"

"Please, sir… I've forgotten…"

"Roach, Coachman and I'll follow the white van while you three will take the other way and wait just in case something goes wrong, you understand?"

"Yes, sir…"

Roach got in the car. MacTavish sat in the back. Coachman drove. The car had a musty smell. A Colt 1911 was fitted in the sun screen.

They drove around the city trying to find the van

They found it parked in _Calie de Rizal_. MacTavish looked at the picture Shepherd gave him and compared the license plates.

The three men went out of the canteen and rode the vehicle.

He clicked his radio. "Ghost, the plates are a match. They just got on"

"Copy."

They kept following the van even though they were losing hope of finding the assistant. Perhaps they already found him?

"Any sign of Rojas's assistant?" Ghost asked.

"Negati— wait! They're stopping!"

The utility vehicle stopped on the sidewalk, in front of Hotel Rio. The three armed men left the van and one held out his Beretta. One man pointed at the open double-doors. A dark-skinned man walked out with his hands up.

"Ghost! We have a positive I.D.! Whoever these guys are, they're not happy to see him."

The leader pointed the gun towards Rojas' assistant, codenamed 'Faust'.

"_Where's my money, butthead?_" he yelled at Faust.

"_I don't have it, my friend…_"

The three chuckled as the boss shrugged. "_Hahaha… you're a very funny man, friend. But seriously… you're getting on my nerves! If you weren't Rojas' right-hand man, I would've had you killed a long time ago."_

"_Can we not settle this in a more peaceful manner?_"

The man he was pointing to cocked the hammer of his gun.

Faust smiled and simply shrugged. "_Very well then, __**friend**__…_"

As quick as lightning, Faust pushed the gun towards the second man, forcing the leader to use his reflexes and pull the trigger, killing his friend. Faust grabbed his own Desert Eagle and shot the leader in the gut.

The third man ran to him, intent on knifing him. Faust stopped him and gave him a .50 straight to his brain.

Coachman's and Faust's eyes met.

"Ghost! We have a situation here… Get down! Get down!"

Thinking that they were the fallen leader's backup, he raised his weapon. Roach thought fast and hit the floor and so did MacTavish. Coachman wasn't so fast and got his body pumped with lead.

Roach shook the shattered pieces of the windshield off him and sat up. MacTavish was already out of the car and pointed to the running assailant.

"He's getting away! Roach, let's go! Let's go!"

Roach jumped out and prepared his ACR.

"Ghost, our driver's dead… Meet us at Hotel Rio! Cut him off if you can!"

Ghost replied, "Roger, on my way!"

Roach sprinted. His heart's beat was as fast as his pace. He made a right turn and saw several civilians running away.

**BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!**

The people screamed louder and ran away from Faust who was looking out for Roach. He ran straight to the alley. Roach had a clear shot…

He aimed down the ACOG scope. Time seemed to slow. He put his finger on the trigger.

He pulled it when…

…A civilian passed in front of him.

"Jumpin' Jiminy!" Roach yelled. "Bloody wanker!"

Fortunately for the passerby Roach forgot to turn the safety off. Roach gave a sharp stare and pointed to him.

He remembered that time was of the essence. Faust was getting away.

"Roach! Hurry!" said MacTavish.

Sanderson rushed. They bumped into Ghost.

Ghost spotted Faust. "He went into that alley!"

"Roach, go for his leg!"

**BUGUM!**

Faust tumbled down. His head hit the dirt-ridden pavement.

"He's down…" MacTavish patted him on the back.

Roach faced MacTavish and smiled.

Faust groaned. He reached for his DEagle.

"No you don't…"

MacTavish kicked the gun away from him.

The Brazilian swore in his own language.

"Same to you… now we can do this the easy way or the hard way… just tell us where your boss is..."

Faust kept quiet. When MacTavish looked away, he made his move. He tried to get up and tumbled to his pistol. He clutched the grip and faced his captors. But before he could even raise his hand, the excruciating sore on his leg pained even more. Blood seeped through the wound and MacTavish stepped on it harder.

"GYAAAAAHHH!" the downed man screamed.

Ghost seized the handgun away from him.

"I'll ask again… where's Rojas?"

The assistant spat on MacTavish.

"Fine… we'll do it your way. Ghost, Roach drag him."

As ordered, Ghost and Roach pulled the man by the shoulder of his shirt.

"Ghost, prepare the interrogation room!"

A few minutes of rustling about in the room, Ghost came out and called out to Roach.

Ghost pointed to Faust and said, "Roach, drag this wanker and put him on the chair..."

Roach followed and did what he was told. The prisoner tried to fight even though he himself knew it was useless. Roach removed his cuffs and replaced them with razor wires which he tied to the steel bars of the seat.

Ghost grabbed a hose connected to a spigot and sprayed water all over Faust. Faust laughed at him.

"What? You are going to torture me by getting me wet?" he asked rhetorically.

"Told you this son of a bitch could speak English!" Ghost yelled at Roach then went back to Faust, "And whoever said that that was the end of it?"

Ghost grabbed two metal rods from his pouch. He waved them in front of the bound man. "Y'see these?"

Faust remained unresponsive. Roach stared at the shiny pieces of steel his friend held. _What the hell is he going to do...? _

"_AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHHHH!"_ The scream echoed inside the room. Roach didn't want to believe his eyes. Ghost had thrust the metal rods into Faust's knees...

"Goddammit, Ghost! What the hell are you doing?" Roach shouted. The situation felt a little bit awkward. He was shouting at his commanding officer.

"I've cleared it with Soap, Roach. Ask him if you like!"

The door creaked as MacTavish entered the room. "Did I hear my name?" he asked.

Roach came to him. "Sir, is he out of his fucking mind? I mean, The UN Human Rights Council has chewed our heads off for two times already! Do you want it to be three?"

"Roach..." mumbled MacTavish. "I've authorized Ghost to do whatever means necessary to make him talk..."

Roach was furious, though he didn't have the right. If Ghost was going to do something punishable by law Roach didn't want anything to do with it. "Sir, with all due respect, Task Force 141 is on the verge of being dissolved because of our ways, or rather, Ghost's ways of interrogation! Blimey, I'm not trying to be the almighty saint here but this is just plain wro-"

"Roach! Please spare us the talk... you're repeating your sermon for the I-don't-know-how-many-times now. Stop. If you can't then I must ask you to leave the room."

Roach grumbled and sighed, "Harump... No one ever listens to me. Because everyone thinks I'm a rookie, which I would like to point out that I am not... Just because I messed up a few times..."

He then stormed out. The captain yelled, "No one thinks you're a rookie, Roach! 'Cept maybe half of the team..." before closing the door. He turned to Ghost. "Do what you must..."

Ghost nodded and returned to the still whimpering Faust. Blood trickled down his legs. Ghost took out a pair of jumper cables and put them on the metal rods. He connected the other end to a light switch. He turned the light on.

Roach sat down on the filthy steps that led to the door. Meat saw him and began to open his mouth to say something.

"Not a word, Meat... It's best you don't ask... Unless you want a scorning."

Meat shrugged. Faust's screams were so loud it could have alerted neighboring militiamen. Then the screams stopped. Seconds later, he was at it again.

This cycle had repeated for about six times. Finally, MacTavish stepped out. "Roach! We've squeezed out Rojas' location! He's in a favela nearby... I want you to take Meat and Royce and hunt him down. I don't care how you do it but I want that son of a bitch caught alive. Ghost and I are gonna clean up here and we're going to circle around the back so we can trap Rojas... Now, go!"

Roach checked his magazine. Still full. He hurried to get up and ran together with Royce and Meat. He went up a short flight of stairs. There was the favela. The houses mostly made of scrap iron and plywood, all tightly packed. Brazilians sat on the ground, smoking and drinking beer or _cerveza_ in their language.

A chain link perimeter fence barred their way. Royce looked for a weak part they could break. Conveniently, there was already a hole that was snipped through with bolt cutters that were lying on the ground.

"Remember," called Royce "there are civilians in here so watch your fire."

Both nodded. "Meat, get these civvies out of here..."

"Roger that." Meat jumped down an approached the drunkards and warned them in their native language. Meat was multilingual. The men ignored Meat and continued to drink.

Roach looked around for something suspicious. Women milking their babies, children running around, a man with binoculars on top of a tower, people gambling... _Wait!_ The man with binoculars took out a radio and yelled at it.

"Meat, get this civilians out of here!" Roach yelled. He observed the look-out. Still yelling at the radio.

"I'm trying they won't listen!"

"Damnit!" Roach took out his USP and fired three shots in to the air. People screamed and started to run for their lives.

Royce gave a stabbing look at Roach. "What the hell are you doing? They'll know we're here!"

A bullet hit the dirt, just a few centimeters from Roach's boot. The look-out had fired at them. He was holding a FAL.

"They already know were here!" Roach pulled his mates out of the line of fire. "The look-out had reported us. So if we wanna catch Rojas we have to hurry!"

Royce glanced through the window they were crouching below. Militia started to swarm the whole place. "Shit." He pressed the button on his earpiece, "Bravo Six, be advised- We are engaging enemy militia in the lower village!"

Roach stood up and cocked his ACR. "Royce, with me. Watch the rooftops."

He leaned on the makeshift wall of the house and did a SWAT turn. Exposing himself and surprising the enemy. They raised their weapons but Roach had already shot them.

"Nice, Roach..." Meat complimented as he patted him on the back.

"**Royce. Gimme a sitrep, over!" **MacTavish's voice rang from their earpieces.

"Sir, lots of militia, no sign of Rojas..." responded Royce,

"Soap, this is Roach, we believe that Rojas is already making his escape... we were seen by a look-out when we were trying to make the civvies leave."

"**Roger, Roach... we're on our way... Keep searching and let me know once you see him. Out.**"

The trio started making their way through the favela using the 'homes' as cover from snipers and militiamen. They were severely outnumbered but that's where their USMC and SAS trainings come in. They were never overpowered, lugging grenades whenever the opposing force huddled-up. And when they ran out...

"Roach, no more frags..." Meat stated.

Roach also searched his vest for more but to no avail.

"Roach, they're gettin' close." Royce told him. "But they're packed really tight."

Roach was using his last magazine. Only 14 bullets remained. The pistol wouldn't do either. He brainstormed. _Aha!_

"Meat, I that guy was using a shotgun, get it, would you?"

Meat jumped at the dead soldier that was at the other building. He quickly threw it to Roach, who side dodged. The group was mowed down as though they were hit by a bowling bowl.

"Good thinking, Roach!" said Royce, "Meat, come back here..."

"Sure thing, Royce..." he rushed to them. They ran for the other building. Meat checked inside through the window. No one was inside.

**Krrsh... Thwap!**

A red cloud formed above Meat's head. He fell to the ground with a hole in his head, blood profuriously leaking from it.

"MEEEAAATTTT!" screamed Royce, who happened to be his bestfriend. He tried to help him but Roach yanked him back.

"I'm sorry, Royce" condoled Roach, "but it's too late for Meat... I knew the two of you were the best of mates..."

Roach pushed his communications earpiece and blurted, "Bravo Six, HQ, Meat is down, we are down to two..."

He heard sobbing from the HQ line... No answer from Bravo Six

"Shite... Royce, you have to pull yourself together... We have to move..."

"Y-Y-Yeah..." He stuttered as he wiped his face.

"Stay close to me..." Roach peeked through the window. A soldier had shot Meat through the window.

**BrrrRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!** Roach fired his ACR, avenging his fallen teammate.

"C'mon..." They ran through an alley and were ascending to the higher favela. The environment was better there, at least the houses were made of cinder blocks. Royce and Roach scanned the perimeter. It was quiet. No civvies and no militia. Was that the last of them?

There was a figure in the corner of Roach's eye. There was rustling overhead. He caught a glimpse of the figure before it ducked behind the junk on top of the roof. A man wearing a t-shirt and a cap. A civvie? He contacted Bravo Six.

"Bravo Six? Come in, Bravo Six!"

"**Bravo Four, what is it?**"

"Why didn't you pick up a while ago? Anyway, did the prisoner describe what Rojas was wearing?"

"**Sorry, Roach, I accidentally turned-off my earpiece. Yes, Faust told us that he was wearing a baseball cap, denim jeans, a white tee and an olive-green vest over it. Over."**

"Alright, I got a visual, I repeat, I have a visual..." Roach lowered his voice.

"**What? What's your location?**"

"My GPS says... 37 23.516 -122 02.625 we're at the higher favela..."

"**Right, we're closing onto your position, you have my authorization to subdue him. Anything else?**"

"Yeah... Meat is... Meat's dead..."

"**How's Royce hanging?**"

"He's a little shaken-up... We are approaching the suspect..."

"**Contact me if any changes occur so we can help...**"

"Right...Over and Out..." he gave some hand signals to Royce, ordering him to follow. He placed some crates beside the one-storey home and began climbing to the top. He placed his hand on the ledge and pulled himself up.

Rojas sat there, facing the other side. He gripped his AKM which he aimed at a trap door, waiting to ambush them. He expected them to enter through there, which normally, soldiers would do. But they weren't normal, they were TF141 specialists, and TF141 specialists think strategically. Rojas wasn't that smart. He didn't watch his back.

Silently, Roach climbed over the ledge and approached Rojas, still clueless of his enemy behind him. Roach cocked his rifle, which was warning enough that he was under arrest.

Roach heard Rojas gulp. He began raising his hands, removing his finger from the trigger. Roach approached him, slowly yet cautiously, not letting his guard down.

He quickly grabbed the assault rifle and passed it to Royce, who in turn, emptied it.

"Well, that's a spot of luck... Even though we lost Meat... God bless you, Meat. Got any handcuffs, Royce?"

"Now why would I have a pair of cuffs?"

Roach paused for a moment. _Yeah... Why would he have cuffs?_

"Dunno, maybe you keep cuffs just in case? Ahh... Hell, just gimme that rope over there..."

Royce did so and handed it to Roach. Roach took Rojas' hand and began tying a knot on his wrist when-

"**Roooaaacchhh!**" He felt force from a hand push him. He stumbled. He hit the cluttered mess in the corner.

"What the hell, Roy-"

**Baguuushhh!**

His savior's blood sprayed onto his face. Roach was shocked. Royce had pushed him out of the line of fire, saving him but killing Royce in the process.

Roach searched the scanned the area for the sniper. A militia had hid from the adjacent building. The man had shot Royce from the fifth window from the left.

"You effin' S.O.B.! I'll teach you how to kill!" Roach grabbed the trigger of the attached M203 and launched a round into the window.

**BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!** The explosion, surely, had obliterated the killer. Roach went near his friend.

Royce lay there, his body still twitching. The bullet had gone through his spine and through his neck.

"Royce... No..." Roach started to weep. _God, he was such a good friend. Yet, everyday I treat him like shit._

Roach closed Royce's eyelids. He looked around. Rojas had jumped over the gap between two homes. He was getting away!

_No... fucker, you're not getting away with this... _

Meanwhile, back in the U.S.A.

Day 4

18:41:12

NORAD HQ, Cheyenne Mountains

Lieutenant James Parkinson sat near his station, sipping coffee as usual. The days were always boring, except for times like an unidentified plane enters the airspace, but often the sit behind a very large screen with the United States' outline on it with blue dots on it. Blue dots meant USAF jet planes. Nothing new...

**BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!**

Parkinson spurted his java. He looked back at the screen. Over seventy red dots were flying over the Alaskan area._ Bogeys!_

He put on his headset and tuned in to Nome AFB, the Alaskan airbase. "Sand Bravo, I'm reading over 70 bogeys in your sector, please verify!"

"Very funny, HQ, that's a big negative over..." the man at the other end said. Another officer behind Parkinson tapped his shoulder.

"Sir, it must be a glitch in the ACS..."

"A glitch? Yeah..." He returned to Sand Bravo, "Be advised, running diagnostics to check if there is any malfunction. Run yours, as well, just to be sure..."

"Sure, HQ, but the skies are clear, you're seein' phantom dots..."

"I'm gonna check with Vandenberg..." He switched to frequency 140.28...

The dots at the screens proliferated to a hundred. "Damn, this doesn't feel right..."

Zulu X-ray 6 answered. "HQ?"

"ZULU X-ray 6, sign in your sector of some 100 bogeys... please advise..."

"Negatory, HQ. I dunno what to tell ya... Solar interference? Heavy sunspot activity today..."

"Wait..." The diagnostics were still at 50%... Parkinson called the commanding officer. He lent his headset to Major Carville and explained the situation... "ZULU X-ray 6, this is Carville... Just to be sure, I'm dispatching five units to your location..."

"You sure about that, sir?"

"Hell, the diagnostics are still a half hour from completion... we might all be dead by the time it finishes... anyway, we've got nothing to loose..."

"'Cept time..."

Parkinson called to the major, who was on the phone. "Sir! The diagnostics just finished!"

"That was fast... I was just informing General Shepherd about the situation. Well, what does it say...?"

"The ACS has a minor malfunction..."

"Well, run repairs! I'm still sending the team, though, Shepherd's orders..."

"Right, sir... let's get to the bottom of this... I just hope that this IS a glitch..."

**Ping! Running repairs...**

Back to Rio...

A bullet hit Roach's vest. He felt nothing at all. What he did feel was anger. The man who shot him was struggling to reload his weapon. Roach pumped his shotgun and blew his head off.

_Hmm... funny... it's funny how this mission turned from a simple snatch & grab to a personal vendetta._

The higher favela had overwhelming numbers of militia. Roach probably had wiped half of them off...

Roach caught another glimpse of Rojas. He took aim but Rojas ran back to cover.

"**Roach, we're taking heavy fire from militia but we're still tracking Rojas. He went into that building! Ghost do you see 'im?" **yelled MacTavish into the comm.

"**Roger that, he's climbin' onto the roof carryin' a black duffel bag!**"

"**Well at least, that should slow him down!"**

"**Wait! He's taking something out... bragahbragahbragah! Fuckin' Wanker! He took out an AK-47!"**

Roach clicked his comm. "Ghost, which building was that?"

"**Sendin' coordinates to your GPS... you should see it. Anyway, Soap's gotta tracker on him, mate, remember?"**

Roach's GPS device gave a loud beep. The coordinates showed that it was actually the one right in front of him. Rojas' blue bleep was going fast, he was gonna exit through the roof!

"Soap, I'm gonna have Rojas right in front of me... I'll have a clear vis-"

"**Roach, you're tracker says you're about 45 feet away from him... if you're gonna neutralize him, I'm telling you now, DON'T!**"

"But I-"

"**No, Roach, it's a risk we cannot take!"**

Roach looked through his ACOG scope, which magnified only a little. Through it, he saw Rojas burst through the door.

Rojas standing still but on guard, looking-out for Ghost who was following him. He did not see Roach.

"Cap'n, I have Rojas in my sights, he's standin' still..."

"**My decision still stands, Roach... the wind may affect the bullet and hit Rojas in a vital spot... Stand down Roach, Stand down! That's an order...!**"

Roach was one of the talented kinds who had very fast reflexes. He had once been described by someone as being '_faster than a cat on an adrenaline burst_'. Rojas was a very tempting target. Time seemed slow. It would just take a half second to pull the trigger.

Roach let go. He, instead, sprinted forward. Intending to catch-up with Rojas and take him down in close-quarters.

He suddenly stopped as he heard something whirring from above. A 'copter? He looked up. A Little Bird swooped ahead. The sides full of hostiles. Rojas' escape vehicle had arrived. The militia outside pointed something to Rojas, probably telling where the best spot to lower was. Rojas nodded and did a running leap to the other roofs.

"Ghost, Soap, Rojas is gonna use a chopper to escape... Can you see the Little Bird?"

A few minutes of static in his ear, **"Yep, Roach, Ghost, try to follow it. I'm gonna take another route..."**

"**Sure thin', Soap... Roach, you go on ahead... I'll catch-up... Just leave a few baddies for me to kill...**"

"Fine..." Roach decided to follow Rojas through some shortcuts the GPS had showed, though he was 30 feet bellow Rojas. Roach ran through the bodies of dead hostiles and civvies who were caught in the crossfire.

Sweat dripped from his forehead and slid to his goggles. It smudged which ruined his vision. "Fuck..."

He took a piece of cloth and wiped it. Roach could see something glint as he removed the perspiration from his eye protection. It took him one more wipe to recognize it. A ladder! _Fuckin' finally... God I gotta lay off the swearing..._

He reached to the top and searched for Rojas. His cap visibly moving away from Roach. Then it stopped.

_Rojas, you idiot..._

He ran towards it. He cocked the ACR, hoping to surprise him once again.

"HIYAAH!"

"AAAARRRGG!"

It wasn't Rojas! A boy was used as a decoy! He turned his back. The real Rojas stood there. He gave Roach an uppercut that stunned him. Then... **THUCK!** The kick to the gut made Roach stumble!

"WHOAH!" **TucKISSSHH... WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSHHH! THUD!**

"**ROACH! WHAT WAS THAT?"**

"D-D-D-Decoy huff lu-lured me in... re-real Rojas behind me... a-attacked me groan fell two storeys down."

"**Right, I'll send Ghost to you, and I'll try to apprehe-"**

"No, Soap... You don't count me out just yet... I'm just a little shaken-up... minor injuries... I'm fine... I think..."

"**Fine Roach...**"

He leaped to his feet. He felt his knees crunch. "Gah... dammit..." He flipped the 'Release Mag' button on his ACR. The metal casing clanged on the ground. He reached in the magazine holder, which looked like a messenger bag, and took one out and slapped it into the rifle.

**Clachik!** Roach savored the sound of the gun cocking. It was one sound that sent chills to anyone's spine.

Roach forced himself not to think about his wounds. Rojas' escape pod whirred nearby, Roach could hear it. He ran forward into the clearing.

"_Está aqui! está aqui! amaldiçoe-o! morre a escumalha!" _yelled one hostile. Roach took him down. But too late! His friends had already heard his warnings. One in shades fired at Roach. In turn, Roach side-rolled, crouched, raised his weapon and sent a 5.56x45mm annular-primed SCFthrough his noggin.

"não! juan! nós devemos proteger Rojas! ninguém devem começ lhe! Deve escapar! " said another baddie.

Roach knew that these militia had no real tactic other than to huddle-up, making the enemy seemingly outnumbered. He peeked. He was right. He felt the messenger bag for more ammo. He was out. He was out and already he was using Royce's bag.

"What the bloody hell am I going to do?" he asked himself. Then, he realized what he was hiding behind. Crates. Not ordinary crates. Weapon cases. And with that, Roach knew just how lucky he was. They contained M79s.

With his smile reaching from ear to ear, he reached out to get it, "Come to daddy..."

He had a plan...

Roach punched the boxes.

**BBBBBRRRTTTTTTT! BRAGAGAHAGAGAGAGAHAHAH! THADTHADTHADTHAD! CLICK! CLICK!**

A pause, then one of them asked, "Está ainda vivo? "

"Eu estou supor que não é..."

"HAH!" Roach popped up. **THWOOB! FABBOOOOSHHH!**

Blood rained everywhere. Body parts scattered the street. Roach freely walked through and ran towards the sound of the heli.

"**Soap! I see 'im! He's slidin' through the tin roofs. I've got a clear leg shot!"**

"**Negatory, Ghost, unless you want to carry him back with hostiles breathin' down yer neck..."**

Roach started to sprint, he was nearing the summit where the Little Bird was hovering. He saw the hostiles in it preparing a rope ladder. They threw it down and it unraveled. The pilot yelled at Rojas from above, "Pressa! Salte para ela!".

He was telling him to hurry. Which, both Rojas and Roach had to do.

Roach picked up the pace. He used his 'gift'. He had almost superhuman speed and reflexes. To hostiles, he was but a blur passing through them.

He went up the slope. The highest point within the favela, a three-storey boarding house on top of a hill. He looked up. Ghost was across from the balcony. He pointed forward and said, "**The wanker's right in front of me! Soap, where are you?**"

"**Goin' far right!"**

The helicopter adjusted so the rope was very near to the veranda. Rojas started to run. He slid down and hopped over the rails. He made a turn to the right passing the first, the second and the third window!

"**Soap! He's gonna get away!"**

"**No, he's not...!"**

He was about to reach the fourth and last window and jump to the ladder when-

**CRASH!**

MacTavish had broken through the window and tackled Rojas! The force of the two of them broke-off the wooden railing! The adrenaline in Roach almost allowed him to see in slowmo. The two of them, MacTavish on top holding Rojas in the neck, fell.

**TraGASH! **They landed on the green Porsche parked in the open, their weight wrecking it.

Roach loaded the Thumper he lifted the 'leaf sights' and aimed at the chopper. **BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM! **The round exploded inside the cockpit. The destroyed remains quickly crashed nearby.

The captain punched Rojas in the face, then grabbed his standard-issued Glock. He pressed his comm, "Frontrunner, we have the package, I repeat, we have the package..."

So did Ghost, "Command we're ready for dust-off..."

"**Bravo Five, this is Shepherd, commence interrogation there instead, we have a bit of a problem with your transport..."**

"Roger... Over and out."

MacTavish grasped Rojas by the collar and threw him to the ground, though his gun still pointed at his legs.

"Try and run and you won't be able to walk again..." threatened Soap, "Ghost, can you do it here?"

"Yep, sure I can."

"What about your equipment?"

"Look behind ya..."

MacTavish did so. A red toolbox sat on the white-painted plank table.

"Nice... Roach, you might wanna go to the local canteen or somethin'. The last thin' we want is you to meddle."

"No... Ghost, do you mind if... try?"

Ghost glanced at MacTavish.

"Go ahead, numpty... that was the last thing we thought you'd say..."

Roach smiled. He knew that MacTavish was thinking, '_What the bloody hell did this bloke eat?'_

He slammed Rojas on the wall, his arm on his neck. "Ghost, Soap, help me tie him... use the razor wire..."

After they did, Roach took the heavy tool box and approached the tied prisoner whose hands were already bleeding. Roach took the electric drill.

"You know how this works," Roach looked him in the eye as he said, "You tell me what I want to know and I'll make as less pain as possible..."

**VVVRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMM1!...**


	6. Wolverines!

Author's Note: I know, I know this isn't like my other chapters. I've been experimenting on different writing programs. By far, I think this is the chapter I least like. But please, continue reading and please review!

Day 4

06:11:51

NORAD HQ, Cheyenne Mountains

Parkinson tapped on his keyboard. The repairs were done and they were just waiting for the screens to refresh. What would happen was a single white bar would 'wipe' the screen, clearing it then another wipe, this time it would place the continent's outline then the whole radar would reset. If the planes did exist, it would show at the second wipe.

**Ping!** The first wipe had just finished. All the monitors were blank. Now comes the longer part, the second wipe would take about five to ten minutes to complete.

"Major, the first wipe's done. The second one's starting."

He stood and headed to the water dispenser. He flicked the blue tap. Cold water poured onto his Chicago Cubs mug.

Another **Ping!** The second wipe had completed a quarter of the map. The screen outlined the map from Oregon to half of Utah.

Parkinson returned to his swivel chair. Slumped, he put his feet near the keyboard. Five minutes elapsed... **Ping!**The map now showed up to the Northern and Southern Dakotas.

The Eastern United States was clear. Except for the Boeing 747s and some military jets, there were no 'bogeys'...

"Major, it was just a glitch! We can breath a sigh of relief..."

"Very good, I'll inform the teams I sent."

Parkinson gulped more of the cool mineral water from his mug. Even though the air-conditioning was turned on he sweated profuriously. He wiped the sweat off his head with his hanky.

**KKKRKRRRRRIIINNNGGG! **_Huh? _**KKKKRRRRIIIINNNGNGG!**

The red phone was ringing... Red meant emergency!

_Nah... probably someone who has the same glitch... better answer though..._

**Click! **"Hello?"

"_**THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!**_**"**yelled a man with an obviously distressed voice.

"Hello? Hello? Repeat! Repeat!"

"**This is Sierra Delta! I'm lookin' at fighter jets all over the I-95!**"

"Ah... that's it... Sierra Delta, it's a minor glitch in the system. You should run re-"

"**Fuck! No! I'm fucking outside! Hundreds and hundreds of fighter planes! MiGs for Chrissake! How the hell did they get through?"**

"Standby, Sierra Delta!"

Parkinson's heart leaped. He immediately rushed to the master console. He typed 'Impulse 101', an override code for the second wipe to reset immediately.

**Ping!**

"My God..."

The Western part of the U.S. was filled with hundreds of Russian-made attack planes of every kind! They were fooled into thinking an attack would take place in the East!

To the rightmost corner of the console was a red button enclosed in a glass case. The Code Red switch. He broke the glass. He pushed the button.

Every NORAD station in the U.S. had had it's sirens triggered. The armed forces of the U.S. and all its branches were in REDCON 1.

"Parkinson!" yelled Carville, "Alert the closest unit in that sector! I'll tell the Joint Chiefs so the president may approve the country going to DEFCON 1!"

"Yes, sir!" Parkinson grabbed the red phone, "Sierra Delta! Give me a SitRep!"

"**God... Jeez... God...! They're droppin' paratroopers! We're being invaded, damn it!" **Parkinson could hear machine guns blaring from the other end of the line.

"**AAARRRGGHH!**"

"Sierra Delta, what happened?"

"**I've... I've been shot... (blam! Blam!) Take that! HQ... Get the people outta here... Evacuate all the neighboring states. Protect the president... AAARGGHHH! (Blam! Blam!)"**

"Sierra Delta! Hold on, I'm gonna contact the nearest units in the area!**"**

Parkinson dropped the receiver. He put on his headset and scanned the radar for the frequency of the units in the Northeastern Virginia.

His monitor had refined the search to one unit. Hunter Two-One.

A husky African-American accented voice returned his S.O.S., "**I** **read you. This is Fist Battalion, 75****th**** Regiment. Sergeant Foley, acting commander of Hunter Two-One, do you copy?**"

"Sergeant, head immediately to- wait, the scanners show that Springfield, Virginia is the central drop zone. Head there immediately and evacuate as much civilians as you can..."

"**Affirmative! Dunn, we're headin' to Springfield!"**

Parkinson retrieved the phone, "Sierra Delta! Help is on it's way!"

"**HQ... I... I am afraid... that... this... would be... my last... transmission. Get... the president out... (Blam!)"**

"No! Sierra Delta! Sierra Delta! Do you copy? SIERRA DELTA!**"**

He went back to the headset. "All stations, be advised – Satellite surveillance is down! SOSUS and PAVE PAWS are inoperative this time!

Carville was in the balcony of the room. His adjusted the the microphone of his headset.

"**Attention all personnel, the United States is currently being invaded and is now in DEFCON 1! We have to do our best to help all our soldiers in the ground... God help us all... "**

The appalled expressions on their faces were, indeed, understandable. The people, gradually, returned to their workplaces, albeit very tensed.

Parkinson felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Major Carville.

"Lieutenant, it appears that our system has been breached and the ACS module has been compromised... I want you to do what ever means necessary to get the system right. The Russians had made us believe that they were launching an attack in the East."

"Wait... even if our ACS wasn't faulted, our allies should have warned us, right?"

"Yes, but they didn't 'cause they think if the Russians were to invade us... Well they think it would be just..."

"JUST? How could this be just? We are being INVADED!"

"Remember, we 'attacked' Russia... The world views us as criminals...Now, get back to work..."

"Sure... Just don't know how I can work in a state like this..."

Day 4

06:25:01

Half a mile from Springfield,Virginia

As the convoy approached the suburb, more and more planes flew over and away, returning to base. Most of them were Antonov An-124s, Russian Air Force's heavy-lift transports.

From afar, Private James Ramirez saw them dropping Spetsnaz soldiers, some dropping care packages. Ramirez couldn't wait to get a shot at them. He was furious. Russia had gone a step too far. They had jumped to conclusions. They attacked his homeland without even investigating if America did attack theirs.

"RAMIREZ!" This awakened the private from his daze. Foley called him and as usual, this would be followed with an order. "Try to pop some of them fuckers while they're still in the air!"

"Sir, YES, Sir!" Ramirez exclaimed. The soldier gripped his SCAR-H and set it to semi-auto mode. He targeted the paratroopers who were slowly floating down.

**Blam! Blam! Blam! **Two hit its target. The other one missed by an inch. It didn't matter. The hostile was already dead.

The convoy had turned to an intersection. They were inside the suburb. The houses, Ramirez imagined, used to be bright and colorful. Now, they were charred and the colors faded. Most of them were still on fire. Others were already crumbled. These were only signs that tanks had come through here. _The civvies must have been evacuated in time..._ thought Ramirez, _Otherwise this street we're on would be a mass gra-_

"OH SHIT!" yelled Dunn, their Humvee suddenly skidded. A BTR, the Russian counterpart of the U.S. APC, had abruptly ended their ride. It fired its cannon and took out the front truck.

Ramirez felt sorry for those who were riding it. He knew one of them, Collin.

"WE'VE GOTTA BTR! GET OUT! GET OUT!" screamed the sergeant. Luckily, their HMMWV was the doorless kind, this eased exiting the vehicle in case of emergencies. Though, this offered the least protection.

The BTR-80 opened its hatches and let loose a Spetsnaz team wielding various weaponry.

Ramirez's team didn't bother fighting them for the BTR would have chopped them to bits and pieces. Ramirez ran into the backyard of one of the houses. He climbed over the half-broken picket fence. _Whoah!_

What used to be a backyard was now a crater. Foley grabbed the shoulder-strapped radio and called Overlord.

"Overlord, this is Hunter Two-One requesting air support, OVER!"

"**Hunter Two-One,**" Ramirez recognized the voice, it was Captain Glenn Morshower, a middle-aged NATO personnel. **"all air support is already engaged. Additional ground support is on its way but has encountered heavy resistance. Over."**

"Roger that, Overlord. Be advised, we've encountered enemy armor and are proceeding on foot, over."

"**Overlord copies all. Good luck. Out."**

The team was now exiting the backyards. They were on the street again. Corporal Dunn caught up with Ramirez and Foley. "Sir!"

"Dunn? What is it?" Foley asked, still running.

"Sir, did HQ just tell us to 'F' ourselves?"

"Pretty much, corporal..."

Ramirez was reaching the corner of the street when the ground seemed to vibrate.

_Oh, hell._

A BTR, the same one they encountered, was about to approach them. Ramirez aimed down the sights, targeting the machine gun ports. Foley placed his gloved-hand on the Picatinny rail on top of the aluminum receiver. "Don't engage the BTR! They haven't acquired us yet. Hang right and stay behind."

As the carrier passed them, they swiftly ran behind it. A voice from the their radios said, "**Hunter Two-One, come in.**" Foley grabbed his, "This is Hunter Two-One. I copy."

"**Good, this is Shepherd. Is this Foley?**"

"Yes, General."

"**There are numerous High Value Individuals in the area, who have extremely vital info, in need of pick-up. One was already choppered away by the 23****rd**** Infantry Division by they were shot down. I think the crashed Pave Low is somewhere north of you. Can you see it?** "

Foley noticed an oily plume of black smoke boiling up through the sky. "I got a visual on smoke coming from the north."

"**Yep, that's probably where 'Raptor' went down. Sergeant, I want you to get your team to that location ASAP. Assist all remaining '**_**Americals**_**' defending their position."**

"Roger, sir, over and out!" Foley turned to his men. "Alright, team, you heard what the general ordered!" Ramirez huffed as they continued to shadow the BTR. They followed it downhill where the street was more battered. A care package was lying on the ground. Just then, the BTR came to a halt.

"Men," called Foley, "Ready your weapons. They must be stopping to retrieve their supplies." Ramirez, his back to the BTR, took out a mirror. He could see the metal doors reopening to the side. Two soldiers stepped out. AK-47s slung on their shoulders, ran to the heavy metal box then lifted it via its two handles on both sides.

"Wait for them to get close... NOW!" About ten Rangers jumped from nowhere and fired at the two. Before the others inside their ride could even stand from their seats, a grenade had shredded them to pieces.

"Help yourselves, Men..." Foley said referring to the enemy's supplies. Ramirez kicked the lid open and began looting it. He filled his pockets with spare bullets. There were also a few rations inside. Rumors Ramirez heard was that Russian-made rations were the worst. He took one to give it a try. _Better late than never._

Ramirez was all packed up and reloaded. The supplies that had been salvaged was all now but an empty crate. "Right, men. Now that you've stuffed your pockets to the brick of it falling apart, its time to get back to the mission."

"Hooah!" They yelled in agreement. The team continued to the end of the street where the path was barred with barbed wire. They took the side-ally between a convenience store and a pharmacy. Ramirez hadn't notice it but they were out of the subdivision. "C'mon!" said Private Simpson. The young Arkansan ran to get out of the narrow snicket.

**Thwap! **Simpson jerked violently as a warm projectile entered his skull and into the mushy mass they called a brain.

"Contact!" Ramirez yelled. He crouched behind a dumpster, eluding enemy fire.

The others found their own 'foxholes' and began blind-firing. Foley was a man of accuracy. He preferred to aim first then shoot that to 'spray and pray'.

**Taktakakatakatakatakataka!** Ramirez clicked the magazine release. The khaki bullet feeder dropped. Ramirez took a fresh clip from his vest pouch and forced it into the slot under the firearm's receiver. He slapped the bolt towards him and the gun cocked. Ready for a new round of killing.

**Takatakatakatakataka! **The more Russians they killed, the more Americans avenged for the wrongful invasion. Ramirez had finished the whole 30 rounds. Again, he detached the magazine and reached for another. His pouch contained two more mags filled with 'five-five-sixes', including the one he just inserted into the weapon. Another set of bullets confunded Ramirez. There were about two dozen 00 buck shotgun shells inside it. _What the hell am I doing with these? Ah. Right. The MasterKey..._

Ramirez looked over his shoulder and his right hand reached inside the back pouch. It removed what appeared to be a shotgun without a grip. Just the barrel, pump and trigger. Ramirez slid the MasterKey Shotgun to the Picatinny rail below the handguard. The MasterKey was an attachment that was used for opening doors by blasting the hinges away. Effectively used for stubborn doors, just as effective for people. Ramirez took the shells and, one by one, loaded it to the tubular integral magazine under the barrel.

**Chakick! **Ramirez pumped the shotgun. He hopped up, leaning on the dumpster's lid and blasted a hostile. The Russian soldiers were quite easy targets. They wore the most peculiar BDUs. Their camo was composed of .largely, maroon and black with small pigments of yellow. Ramirez wondered why they would pattern their fatigue in such way. _They don't really blend in with the environment..._

**BAGAM! Chakick! BAGAM! Chakick! **The metal pellets bounced off the soldiers' body vests but the gas masks they wore wasn't that much armored. Ramirez ran further to towards the enemy, who were backing-off. They ran, broke the large window of the mini-mart, then took cover inside. Ramirez laughed at their tactic. With just a grenade, they would die. Ramirez thought against this. He wanted something more challenging. He left his position. He slung the SCAR-H and drew his Beretta, he did a running jump towards another glass pane. He crashed through and landed on his knees. He took the Russians by surprise. The cowering soldiers cocked their rifles. **Blam!Blam!Blam! **

Ramirez blew the smoke from the red hot muzzle. He holstered his sidearm then went back on his feet. He smiled at hi victory and boasted, _I am dangerous...XD!_

The team regrouped outside. Some scavenged some ammo from the enemy. Judging by the fact that there was a big and tall sign, they were at the back of Nate's Sports Bar and Grille. Ramirez could smell the strong smell of burning gasoline. The downed chopper must be near.

The men carried on to the front. The parking lot had a long strip of broken and sunken concrete. It ended where the helicopter sat. Foley approached one of the 23rd's privates who was blind-firing behind a police vehicle. "Private, gimme a sitrep! Where's Raptor?"

The private sat down and reloaded his weapon, "He- We moved him into the meat locker, sir! It-It's practically bulletproof!"

"And his status?"

"He's still unconscious. You have a medic?"

Foley looked at Dunn and tilted his head, gesturing him to check Raptor. "What else, private?"

"Well," Private Wells pointed at the roof. "There's a supply drop up there. Also, a M-5 sentry gun."

"Ramirez! Get to the roof and check out that supply drop!" Ramirez sighed. He knew it. It was him again. For the past two years, Foley had picked him to be his lapdog. Ramirez was disgruntled, _two years of doing everything he ordered and not a promotion..._

Ramirez entered the restaurant. Usually on Friday, the place would be overcrowded with families and couples. The waiters would carry what they ordered within five minutes. Fast service, indeed. Now, the only people inside were carrying machineguns and rifles. "Hey, buddy..." Ramirez asked one of the soldiers inside, "How do you get to the roof?"

"There's a ladder in the kitchen."

Ramirez sauntered in the cooking area. There was a long service ladder in the corner. He grabbed the rungs and climbed into the chute. At the top, Ramirez pulled himself out of the square opening. A huge box with safety ropes took the space at the center of the roof. Unlike the care package they looted a while ago, this one was adorned with the American flag. He pulled the small lever on the side and the box opened. Bullets filled it to the brim. One corporal stood beside Ramirez and snatched a couple of mags. ""Yep, good ol' American-made five-five-sixes." He said, "and I'm gonna use every one of them to kill these fuckfaces who dare to invade my homeland!" Ramirez smiled and agreed. _A li'l bit of patriotism never hurt..._

Ramirez went near the sentrygun. It acted like the Phalanx CIWS except it was for infantry and was laser guided. It looked like a M134 minigun, though what-looked-like a computer extension at the other end and a laser module at the side. The M-5 would know its targets via the laser which would be attracted to the head emanating from one's body. Once deployed, friendly soldiers must turn on their IR beacons to stop the laser from targeting them. It was quite a very amazing piece of work. Though things would get very messy after a while.

"Heads-up!" Ramirez jumped. He didn't notice Foley climbing up. _Sneaky bastard..._ "We've got trucks comin' from the south. Better reload while they're not here."

A minute of waiting nervously for the enemy to arrive, two BTR-80s rammed the remaining cars on the parking lot. Their doors opened with a hiss. Just seconds elapsed and two smoke grenades were thrown out, two each from the two BTRs. One Ranger yelled, "They're usin' smoke screens!"

Foley warned his squad through the two-way radio, "Squad, this is Hunter Two-One Actual, the enemy is using smoke to cover their advance, switch to thermal if you have them. To those who don't... well it's time to_ spray & pray_"

Foley's emphasis on the words 'spray and pray' made Ramirez grin. He knew Foley forced himself to say it. As a former member of Sniper Team Two, accuracy meant a lot to him. Though, Ramirez thought Foley was exaggerating. "Ramirez!" _Goddamn! Not me again! _"Pass me that sniper rifle!"

Ramirez was ordered to retrieve the 'Intervention', a bolt-action rifle that has a range of 2,300 meters, the longest range ever for modern-day sniper rifles, hence the name 'Intervention'. Ramirez threw it to Foley, who caught it instantly. _Nice catch..._

"You should swap your SCAR-H for the M14 EBR, Ramirez. It has a thermal scope. It'd be easier for you to pop their heads off."

Ramirez took the assault rifle off his back and propped it to the ledge. He got the Mk 14 and glanced through the scope. Dozens of white silhouettes of soldiers ran for the building. The scoped battle rifle had made lesser noise that it should as it was suppressed by a silencer. As more men dropped dead, their white silhouette gradually faded because their bodies were losing heat.

One of the soldiers with them screamed, "Tangos on the roof! They're right be-" His sentence was cut off by a gush of blood that came from his temple. _Shit... they went through the back!_

The soldiers used the other service ladder that was beside the dumpster around the back. Ramirez unsheated his knife. _This should make them stop... _He threw the knife and hit the hostile's throat. The man stumbled as he stared at his throat in shock. He fell down through where he climbed up. They could hear yelling and more thuds of bodies falling. The hostile fell on his buddies causing them to let go of the ladder.

Just when the smoke dissipated and the enemies seemed to thin out, "Incomin' north side!" The Russians began attacking from the right. "Ramirez!" called Foley, "Move the sentrygun!"

Ramirez was already on it. He turned the machinery off. This caused the turret to retract. Ramirez carried the tripod and placed it on the north side. He flipped the switch and the turret extended. The barrels spooled once again and fired upon the enemy.

As they saw their teammates get cut down, the other Spetsnaz decided to retreat to safety. Foley chuckled, "Looks like Ivan's had enough! Corporal Dunn, gimme a sitrep, over."

Dunn's voice fuzzed through the radio, "**Raptor is secure and stable...**"

"Roger that! Everyone, check your weapons and ammo, they'll be back."

Foley's spotter caught a glimpse of another set of BTRs coming their way. Foley warned them about it.

Ramirez sat in the corner, reloading the EBR. He thought about all the people the Russians had killed. He felt anguish and fear for them. Some of the civvies' cars were still on the road, some on the parking lots and gas station. The evac was so sudden, they didn't have time to pack their belongings. He felt fortunate, having his parents live in Iowa. Far away from this massacre. A loud whistling sound echoed above them.

**BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM! **Something, apparently a missile, had detonated on the parking lot! "What the hell was that!" asked Ramirez.

"I- I-" a private stammered, "I saw what it was! It was an AGM-114 Hellfire!"

Foley, angered, ordered, "Its a Predator Drone! They're bombin' us! Get off da roof! Ramirez! Get yo lazy ass off da fuckin roof!"

The team swiftly ran to the ladder nearest to them. They didn't bother going down, step by step. They just grabbed the rails and let gravity do the rest. After they went down, they took cover beneath the booths. The roof was continuously pounded by missiles. "Damnit! When will this stop?"

"Sarge!" hollered Dunn, "I've gotta visual on an enemy UAV operator remote piloting those missiles! He's over at the diner to the west!"

Foley used the Intervention's scope to find the 'bastard'. The man was standing near the cash register, using a laptop-like machine. "There you are! Take this!" the rifle clicked. "What?" Foley pulled the bolt. The gun was empty. He searched his pockets for .408 CheyTac bullets. Nothing. "SHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-it! Ramirez!"

_Ah, man! Me again? I suppose I should get used to it... _"Yes, sir!"

"Get over there and kill that S.O.B.! I'm sending a part of the team to cover you!"

Ramirez crawled out of the table and crouched. He borrowed one of the men's M4A1 and gave him the EBR. He checked the gun and ran outside. Two BTRs were patrolling the area. _The trick is two run as fast as you can..._

He sprinted to the west. The BTRs trying to get him as a target, but their turrets were too slow. Ramirez had reached the small eatery before they could get a lock on him. The UAV operator's back 'faced' him. Sneakily, he crept up to him. "Huh?" The UAV operator seemed to be alone. The man turned around and was horrified to see that an enemy was right behind him! He raised his hands, intending to surrender. **Thwack! **Ramirez sent the butt of the gun to his chin. The man lay on the floor, incapacitated.

Ramirez took out his two-way and pushed in Foley's frequency. "Sir, I've got the control rig."

"**Great, Ramirez! Now take out those two BTRs!**"

He sat down near the Russo and placed the device on his lap. He waited until the screen displayed 'UAV Online. AGM Available.'. Ramirez flipped the small joystick up. This was used for controlling the missile to its target. The UAV itself was piloted at base. The screen showed a live, bird's eye view of the area. AS the camera was in thermal mode, it could detect heat from living beings. The screen would mark them with red-outlined, square boxes based on the size of the unit. The BTRs were the largest boxes. One of them was still releasing soldiers. The other one was roving near the other. It was going to pass the first BTR. Ramirez took the opportunity. He launched the AGM. The screen flashed. The missile soared downwards. He pushed the joystick to the left so that it would hit the ground between the two vehicles. Then, he pressed the red button on top of the controller. The Hellfire dove.

White noise filled the LCD. The Drone was reloading. The screen would go back up withing minutes. Foley contacted Ramirez, "**Good effect on target! That's a kill! Now regroup over hear! Over!**"

"Roger!" Ramirez gave the unconscious soldier one last kick to the head, just so to make sure he didn't shoot him in the back. He folded the joystick down and closed the laptop. He forced it inside his back vest pouch. He grasped his M4A1 and moved out of the diner. There was a smoking crater where the two Russian transports were. The whole battlezone they were in was starting get quiet. Except for the gunshots and bombings in the distance, it was silent. There was one, one noise, that seemed to be getting louder. It came from the south.

He turned around to investigate what it was. _Oh, shit! _A MiG 'Fulcrum' had been called as back-up! Ramirez, hurriedly, pulled his radio to warn Foley. "Sarge! Take cov-"

A loud blast made Ramirez drop his two-way. The MiG-29 had jettisoned its missiles. "NO!"

Inside the restaurant, Foley watched as Ramirez trip to the ground. "What the?" He looked further. A jet floated just above the diner. "Enemy fastmover! Get down!"

**BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!**

The glass windows shattered. Most of the roof came down. There was smoke everywhere. Foley opened his eyes. His head felt wet. He wiped it. _Blood..._ He sat up and opened the bottom pouch on his body armor. He unzipped the zipper. Foley put his one hand into it and came out with a small kit. He pressed the lock-release and the thing sprung open. He took one cigarette and lit it with the lighter concealed within the kit. It was time for a little R&R, though in quite the weirdest situation. "Team- Team! Do a roll call! We- we gotta know who's still alive..."

"Dunn!"

"Perry!"

"Johnson!"

"Almeida!"

"Mason!"

"Doyle!"

"Wells!"

"Boyd!"

"Myers!"

"Caldwell!"

After Caldwell, no else yelled their name. "So, team, or what's left of you, Wayne and O'Hara are either K.I.A. or W.I.A... You gotta fix yourselves. We're not done yet. Now that they've bombed us, they will make sure that we're dead. So, find your guns and reload. We gotta be able to fend them off." A voice that belonged to no one inside reverberated. **"Sarge... Sarge, pick-up... Two-One Actual, you still there?" **The sergeant took it off its holder. "Ramirez... you're alive?"

"**Was gonna ask you the same thing, Sarge...**" Foley smiled. At least Ramirez showed a little care for him. "I'm a tough son of a bitch, Ramirez..." He heard Ramirez chuckle, "I thought that MiG shot you down."

"**No... The loudness of the Air-to-Surface missile's launch made me hit the deck. The MiG's gone sir. I think we should move Raptor to a safer spot, sir. You won't be able to hold 'em off there. A wee grenade can destroy the remaining support beams and crush y'all.**" Foley looked at the remaining members of his squad. It was true. They wouldn't be able to stop the Russians from killing them. They needed to get to a better, more defensive location. "Dunn! Take Johnson, Wells, Myers and Almeida and get to Ramirez and help him. You're gonna clear out Burger Town."

Dunn hoisted himself up. He helped the others up and gave each a morphine shot. They walked to Ramirez as ordered. Foley told Ramirez what to do.

Ramirez looked at his friends. They looked like hell and seemed like they wouldn't last in the battlefield much longer. They would have to do. He had already call Overlord for pickup. They said they would be here within ten minutes. The Burger Town was to the east. The squadron dragged their feet to the fast food joint. When they were near the entrance, Ramirez told them to avoid the windows and stay hidden. "The enemy is still inside. Now we can circle back and enter through the windows or-"

Dunn intervened. "Fuck that, James. Just whirl a grenade." Ramirez took a look at his friend. He wanted to avoid confrontation. "Tony, we'll be more competent if we do my-"

The corporal cut him off again. He was very annoyed. He just wanted to sit down and rest. "James..." he started, "We're fucking tired. I'm still a bit shell-shocked. These cowards inside are hiding. It means they're in one-"

Ramirez had enough of his whining. Dunn wasn't the only one exhausted. He was, too. Ramirez entered the burger joint by himself. They most easily defended room was the kitchen so he took one of his flashbangs. He removed the ring and rolled it inside. He closed his eyes.

The flashbang, M84 stun grenade if you're feeling official, will emit an intensely loud 'bang' and blinding flash of more than one million candela and 170-180 decibels within five feet of discharge. For any person exposed, one would experience immediate flash blindness, deafness, tinnitus and inner ear disturbance. It would be very disorienting.

**BANG!** The grenade detonated. Ramirez crouched and slid himself inside. He knew the stunned baddies inside would fire their weapons all around the kitchen. The bullets impacted on the the white tiles. Five Russians covered their weeping eyes and shot at every direction. They didn't care who they hit just as long it doesn't get near them.

Ramirez shot everyone of them inside. "Two-One Actual... Burger Town is secured."

"**Roger, Ramirez... Team, be advised, we're moving Raptor to Burger Town NOW!**"

Foley pulled the knob of the meat locker. Raptor lay on the icy floor. Sgt. Foley grabbed him by his wrists and pulled him up. When he was sat up, he hugged Raptor and placed him on his shoulder. He was very slender, making him light and very easy to move. "Keep those guys off me if any of 'em turn up, okay Team?"

"Yes,sir..." said Pvt. Mason.

"Ramirez, we're goin' there now. Use the drone to cover us."

"**Roger!**"

Ramirez called the men he was with. They're mood didn't seem to change. Actually, it got worse. They were as stubborn as hell. Ramirez told them to snipe incoming hostiles. "Wait!" yelled the goaded Private Myers, "You've got the Predator Drone coverin' them! Whatcha need us for!"

Ramirez's temper was fueled by this. "What if they get through, huh? Ever think of that?"

The private snapped, "Well, that's fucked-up! But I'm sure Foley can handle that!"

"Hell! You just do what you're ord-"

"Damnit! I'm the ranking soldier here! I say we rest!" shrieked Dunn.

"-ered, Private! STOP EVERYONE! Just- just cover their six!" Ramirez stormed away from the entrance and went inside. He squated behind the bar and took out the laptop. He lifted the screen and also the joystick. The Drone was back up. It was rounding the skies.

A concentration of red boxes suddenly emerged from the right of the Nova Gas Station. It was a drop off point. He pulled the red trigger on the joystick. Like a while ago, the screen flashed and the AGM was off. He led it to the boxes. Once again, the display was replaced by white noise, indicating the missile had reached its mark.

Ramirez heard shooting outside. He felt relieved that the team took heed and tried to repel the incoming horde of footmen. The screen went up after some time. There were six red boxes leaving Nate's… It was Foley and the rest of the team.

All of a sudden, the Radar Warning Receiver just went off. The screen kept flashing the letters, "UAV locked-on. Deploying countermeasures." The monitor showed the predator dropping chaff. Ramirez didn't know what to do. He kept pushing buttons that he didn't know what does.

He saw the Stinger Missile that was targeting the Drone! Ramirez panicked. He looked at the keyboard for anything he might be able to push to destroy the Stinger. He pressed all of the function keys. One of them must have been used for dropping flares because the Stinger was destroyed. Ramirez's tension was alleviated. _Whew! Thought our Drone was a goner!_

The Radar Warning Receiver went off again! _Fuck, NO!_ Another Stinger Missile was following the drone. A message on the screen kept blinking, "Countermeasures Unavailable" _Oh God!_ The monitor went blank. Red Letters simply typed on it. "No Signal." The Drone was destroyed.

Ramirez left the building to join his teammates. "Somebody took out our Predator Drone." He said to Dunn. Dunn replying with, "Yeah, I know. Saw some guy with a Stinger. I thought I should warn ya but I thought you knew that already because of the warnings."

"Yep."

Foley ran towards the Burger Town. The man on his shoulder was still unconscious. He ran up the short flight of stairs, went past through his guys, and then went immediately to the kitchen to lock Raptor in another meat locker. He scurried back to his men. He kneeled right in between Dunn and Ramirez. "Ramirez, you called for pick-up?"

"Yes, Sir! They should be here-" Ramirez looked at his watch, "in five, sir!"

"Good!" Foley shot his M4 at his foes. One by one they fell dead. Ramirez extracted a new mag from his pouch and jammed it in the receiver. He slapped the bolt, cocking the rifle.

Foley got a call from Overlord. "**Hunter Two-One, huge waves of Russians are comin' your way. I suggest you fall back!**"

"Overlord, there's nowhere to fall back to! But there's a pickup within five minutes."

"**Alright, just try to repulse them from your position! Also, we gotta visual on a pair of attack helicopters headed for you.**"

"Attack choppers? As if we've hadn't had enough! Damnit! Ramirez!"

Ramirez looked at Foley. "Sir?"

"There are Stinger Missiles at Nate's. Get 'em and knock out those choppers." Foley commanded. Ramirez dashed back to Nate's. There was no more entrance. The entire eastern side was destroyed and crumbled. Ramirez stepped on the debris. A Stinger Missile, still in its case, was placed on one of the booth's table. He opened its locks and lifted the heavy cover. The launcher was neatly stored in the foam, inside.

Ramirez pulled the Stinger out. It was very weighty. Foley warned Ramirez, "Ramirez! I see the chopper!"

Ramirez, now feeling as if he was the Terminator, stomped outside. The Mi-24, reporting name: 'Hind', was whirring around. It fired its Yak-B Gatling guns on the Burger Town. "**Ramirez! Kill the Goddamned thing!**"

Private Ramirez aimed the Stinger. He flicked the safety to 'FIRE' and waited for the three beeps for missile lock-on.

**Beep… Beep… Beep… RRRRIIINNNGG!** The launcher rang. The missile was ready. The Stinger produced a very large backblast as the missile fired. The Hind tried to turn. It kept the gun spinning, ready to shoot down the missile. **BOOM! **The gunship managed to shoot it. But unfortunately, it exploded right in front of them. It caused enough damage to destroy the chopper. The mangled metal, engulfed in fire, plunged to the lot. _One more… _Ramirez took a missile from the box. He loaded it into the launcher.

The other Hind just appeared. Before it could start spinning its guns, Ramirez locked onto it. He could hear Humvees beeping. Foley and the team were leaving the Burger Town. _The cavalry had arrived. Now, to swat the naughty fly…_ **Beep…Beep…Beep… RRRIIIINNGG! **


	7. The Hornet's Nest

Day 4

07:31:13

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Rojas was full of holes now. His wrists were numb. If Roach's torture kept up, he would be dead in ten minutes from bloodloss. "I'll ask again…" Roach told him, "Just one more time… if you don't tell me what I want… I swear. I'll drill a hole through your head." As he pulled the trigger-like switch on the pistol-grip handle to taunt Rojas.

Roach really wanted to stop now. He felt like throwing up. He felt mercy when he looked at Rojas. He wanted to call for an ambulance. But they needed the info he was holding in. "Rojas…" he called, "If you tell me what I want right now, you'll be in the hospital in minutes. I give you my word. Just tell me." Roach looked at Rojas. His eyes told him that he wanted to give in. "Come on… Tell me…"

"O- Okay… I tell you…" It was self-pity that made Rojas do it. Roach went near the tied-up prisoner. "What is it?"

Rojas closed his eyes, "You have to believe me… It is the only thing I know. I hope it helps you." Roach went even nearer, their faces almost colliding. Rojas' voice was really soft, now that he'd been tortured. "There- there is a man Makarov once told me of- is a man that he hates more than the Americans."

"Who?"

"He told me- he- the man was in some Russian prison. A gulag." Rojas went on. "Prisoner Six-Two-Seven. Do you know him?" Ghost took out a pad and jotted the said facts down.

"I do not. What else…? Please tell me you've got more intel. This isn't gonna save your life." He said. Rojas frowned; more blood came out from his mouth.

"That is the only information about Makarov…" Roach started to walk away, "No, wait!"

Rojas made the specialist come back. "There is someone. When Makarov does transactions with me… He- He bring somebody with him…"

"What… you mean one of his lieutenants?" asked Roach.

"No… he- he- no speak Russian. Only speak English." Rojas spat the leaking blood on the ground.

"What does he look like?"

Rojas shook his and murmured, "I'm sorry but he was always in the dark. We transact inside warehouse. Very dark, only one light. I saw his uniform though…"

"Uniform?" Roach repeated. Rojas confirmed this. Though, he said that the man wore some kind of camouflage, he didn't know anything else. Roach patted him on the shoulder, "Alright, your ambulance is on its way…"

"Thank you…" Rojas thanked. Roach felt sorry for him. Even if the ambulance made it to him in a minute, Roach knew he would not make it. He lost too much blood. He walked away and made a phone call to the nearest hospital.

Soap and Ghost approached him after he used his cellphone. Roach told them to stop. He leaned over and puked. He reached into his pocket and took out his hanky, which he used to wipe his mouth. Roach was sickened at what he did. To him, torturing another human being was- was indescribable. "You okay, Roach?" asked Ghost. Roach was a bit touched by Ghost's concern. But still, he felt like crap. "No. I'm not okay... thanks for askin' though."

"Right. We should contact Command for pickup. The chopper should be fixed about now. Ghost, do it." said MacTavish. The lieutenant turned his comm on and fixed on to Command's frequency. Nothing but white noise. "Sir!" Ghost exclaimed, "Command's not anserin'..."

MacTavish slammed his fist to his palm and said, "Shite! What the hell's goin' on over there? Now, how are we gonna get outta here?"

Roach answered this. He whipped out his iPhone. "I know, Captain... I'm gonna call DenMother."

Ghost's eyes widened, "Erin?" he inquired as he pulled out the comm from his ear and stuffed it into his pocket. "Yeah" replied Roach, "perhaps she can help us." The iPhone beeped as he dialed Erin's number. The phone rang. "She answered it." said Roach, "DenMother, are you there..." this was followed by a smile from Roach. Erin said something and his expression suddenly changed. It was more of a horrified, dreading look. "How... How did this happen? Wait... I'll put you on loudspeaker and I want you to repeat everything you said. Okay?" Roach pressed the right softkey and laid it on the rock. **"Hello?" **Erin's feminine voice came out from the phone's speaker. "Erin, you're on with me, Ghost and the Captain."

"**OH... well..." **Erin sobbed, **"The U.S. has been invaded."**

"Invaded?" yelled Ghost and Soap in shock.

"**Yeah... I- I- I don't know what happened really... there were rumors circling around that the ACS module you retrieved in Kazakhstan was already tampered."** the Illinoisan explained. "Damn it!" MacTavish yelled. "Why is this the first time we're hearing this? Where's the general? Is he with you, Erin?"

"**N- No. He's on deck."**

Ghost took the iPhone and held the it near his mouth. "Erin, we're going back there at the sub pen. Stay on the line so-"

"**Ghost?**" she said, "**we left the pen half an hour ago... I thought Shepherd told you..." **

Ghost stomped his boot to the dirt. "He didn't. Where the bloody blazes are you goin'?"

"**Shepherd said that we're dropping him off in Annapolis and that One-Four-One is returning to our base in Kazahkstan.**"

"Kazakhstan?" yelled Roach. "Shite! Shite! Shite!"

MacTavish grabbed the iPhone from Ghost, "Erin, do you have your laptop with you?" It was unusual for the three to hear Erin crying. She was a strong and brave girl. She refused to let anyone see her emotional. "**Yeah.. I was using it before you called. Why didn't you use the comms anyway?**"

"The comms at your end were down." MacTavish explicated why, "Erin, I want you to search about the Russian Gulags and then cross-reference them with Makarov and a certain Prisoner 627."

"**Okay.**"

"Then, when you're done, I want you to take the intel you got and take it straight to Shepherd. Okay?"

"**Yes, sir...**" Ghost took the iPhone back and switched to normal speaker mode. He whispered into the receiver. "Erin... just.. hang in there. It's gonna be okay. Don't worry. 'kay. Bye."

Ghost tossed the iPhone back to Roach, who nearly missed it. Ghost faced his mates and said, "Now what're we gonna do? We can't get anyone on the horn!"

"Guys... take a look at this." Roach stated. He showed them his iPhone downloading the news. A reporter stood in the center of the studio. The screen to his left displayed, "US Invaded! Casualties: 2,000,000+" The news ticker read, "U.S. DENIED PASSAGE THROUGH BRAZILLIAN AIRSPACE – U.S. CONDEMENDED FOR MOSCOW AIRPORT MASSACRE – CIA 'BLOWBACK' TRIGGERS HARSH U.N. RESPONSE"

MacTavish slapped his palm to his forehead. "So even if we could contact somebody for pickup, they couldn't. Ah. Damn!" yelled the Scotsman. "The Russians must have deliberately let the ACS module turn on so we can track it and retrieve it. Now, they've got the key to every lock in America."

"And now they're killing a thousand Americans for every dead civilian in Moscow." Ghost showed signs of depression, "Looks like we're out of friends."

"No. Not really..." stated MacTavish.

"Whaddaya mean, Soap?" asked Roach. The captain smiled then clapped his hands. "I know a guy. Roach, throw me your phone." The sergeant took it out again and hurled it to Soap. MacTavish dialed '16211*#117' and pressed the send key. The phone beeped then nothing happened. He, then, registered the numbers '4542788'. It rang and the call was accepted. "Hello."

"**Who is this?**" The two men who weren't holding the phone could still hear the person speak. "Nikolai, It's Soap."

"**Soap? Bravo Team? Price?"**

"Yes, Nikolai. The same Soap." The Captain declared. The man he was speaking to apparently knew their Captain. **"Well, what can I do for you my friend?"**

"You've heard about what happened in the U.S.?"

"**Da. I read it in Yahoo!.com.**"

"So you probably know that Brazil is denying America access into their airspace?" Soap questioned.

"**Da, my friend."**

"Well the thing is, Nikolai, my men and I are trapped in Rio and our U.S. allies are unable to pick us up.**"**

"**And you want me to pick you up?"**

At this point, MacTavish crossed his fingers. "If... it wouldn't bother you, yes. We are in need of pick-up." For seconds, he waited for a reply. He hoped that his friend would be able to save them.

"**I..." **they all gulped. **"have not forgotten how you rescued me from death, five years ago. How heavy you ask me will not bother me, for nothing I do can ever repay what you did for me. Thank you."**

Soap loosened his collar, feeling a bit awkward, "Well, ahehehe... Can you?"

"**Actually my friend, the reason why I can is because I am right here in Rio! Hahahahaha! Alright, I will hack into one of the satellites and find where would be the best place we can meet. Wait. Okay... sending you the coordinates..."**

MacTavish's tracker suddenly beeped. A yellow dot appeared 500 meters to the north. It was some kind of compound that had a very large, open space. No doubt the nearest place that could be an LZ.

"Right, just hurry Nikolai, I think I can hear the militia nearing us. Out." Roach held out his palm, expecting Soap to return it to him. Instead, MacTavish pocketed the gadget and said, "I'll carry it with me... if you don't mind."Roach, with a blank expression, gradually yet forcibly lowered his hand.

"Ghost, Roach, let's get out of here. If the militia see us here, they're gonna bite our arses."

"Yep. It's best that we leg it!" Roach agreed. He looked at Rojas one more time. He was pale and dead. The trio ran north to the overgrown grass. The iPhone rang. MacTavish scooped it out and looked at the text message. It was from Nikolai: 'My Friend, I sent my men to leave weapons just east of your current area. You might need it. Nikolai.'

Soap giggled like a giddy school boy. "C'mon." he told his friends. He led the way. Three-hundred and forty-three steps, Roach counted, and MacTavish stopped. A big, black crate crushed some patches of grass in between rocks. A crowbar was rested on its wooden side.

MacTavish took it and bashed the crate's lid to smithereens, Half-Life style. "Help me take out these pieces of wood will you?" he requested. Roach smiled mischievously and replied, "Sure, Gordon..."

Beneath the wood was hay. Just hay. "Sir, what is this?" asked Ghost.

"Dig deeper." MacTavish told him. Ghost touched something hard. He thought it was the flooring of the box until he managed to move it an inch. He pulled the thing out. "Whoah!" A G36c was clutched in his hand.

Roach laughed, "Soap, You've got some mighty good friends..." Ghost raised the weapon as if battlecrying. "YEAH! Who was that anyway?"

"Nikolai," started MacTavish, "was my captain's informant in Russia back in the S.A.S.. He was about to be executed and we rescued him in time."

Roach took the UMP .45 and exchanged the USP for the Glock. Ghost took the G36c, which he attached with a Red Dot Sight. MacTavish took the M4A1. They took possession of the whole box's ammo. The team headed to the indicated pick-up spot. Footsteps, other than theirs, revealed that the militia were on to them. "Wait..." whispered Roach who knelt down. He took one grenade and buried it, half-way, on the ground where much grass covered it. He did the same with another one, but at the opposite side. He took a very long piece of wire and tied it to the pins of the grenades. "There!" Roach presented. "Now, that should stop them, even for a bit."

They sprinted more to the north. They were up on the streets again. The street was deserted. Cars that were still on the road were abandoned. The people must have gone home to hide. From there, the three walked and checked the rooftops. The street was an easy ambush point because of the narrow way and the autos blocked some of the exits. What appeared to be a transmitting tower stood tall near a building at the end of the street. They went farther.

They sat down behind a concrete border. Roach heard the tingle of dropping pins. He pointed to direction where they came from. Screams were heard after an enormous, fiery blast came from that place. The militia had walked into his tripwire.

Tires screeching, two Technicals arrived at the scene. The pick-up trucks both had M-60 machineguns fixed in the rear beds. The militia attacked the foreigners, guns blaring. Good for Soap, Ghost, and Roach, the concrete's cement was thick enough to withstand bullets and stop it from drilling through. "Wait for them to reload before we shoot! Remember, shoot the ones manning the Technicals first!" spoke the Captain.

The gunshots stopped. The three turned from a prone position to a crouch position. Inclining on the concrete border, they shot the hostiles reloading the M-60 through the head. Both fell. The three returned to the prone position. The riders jumped out. Armed with weapons bought from the black market, they ran to the transmitter building. Some climbed to the roof and began climbing up the tower. Roach crawled to the right where the border got taller and offered much more cover.

Roach could hear heavy breathing behind him. Yet no one was around, his friends were still compressed at the corner. He looked up. A hostile was right on top of them. A man brandishing a gold-plated Dragunov aimed at him. _Tch..._ **Bam! **Roach's foe met his end. The man lost grip of his sniper rifle. Roach hung his SMG. The bling-ed gun landed on his hands. _Fancy...How the bloody fuck could they afford this?_

Roach attached a strap to it. Then, he clipped it on to his back. "Watch out!" warned MacTavish, "Another Technical just arrived!"

Sanderson leaned on the cemented wall/fence, waiting for the right time. He did a SWAT turn and began putting bullets right between their eyes. He shot the car near the hood. A spark caused the car to burst flames. The explosion caused a chain reaction with the other cars.

Only one thing was going on Roach's mind. It was a song. "Surfin' Bird". The seriousness of the battle was in contrast to the silliness of the nonsensical, almost stupid, song. "Clear..." he said. A soft, calm expression in his eyes. The last man standing that wasn't a friendly, was limping towards the safety of a concrete. The man perished from bleeding from his wounds.

"Roach? What's with the grin?" asked Ghost. He asked this, though he was more perplexed that everyone was killed by Roach.

"Nutthin..." uttered the sergeant, in a half-conscious state. What went on his minds was: _Bi-Bi-Bird, bird, bird is a word..._

Ghost turned to MacTavish, "Sir, I don't think Roach doin' the torture was a very good idea..."

With an eyebrow raised, MacTavish agreed, "Yeah... Just be grateful that he killed all tangos..." The duo huffed to get up. Soap scratched his head. Everybody was very much dead.

Roach returned to real life with a flick of Ghost's fingers. "Hey, Roach?" He rubbed his eyes. "Whassup, Bird? Er.. Ghost?"

"Y' okay?" he asked. That was the second time Ghost asked him. Again, Roach replied with a no. "Are you sure? Why were you smiling?"

Roach was taken aback by this. It was quite obvious that he was traumatized with torturing Rojas. "Well, how 'bout you? Huh?" grumbled Roach, "Why so serious?"

Being the point man, Sanderson led the way. They pushed to the street. A few militia appeared but quickly ran off, seeing their dead friends on the pavement. They weren't really trained soldiers. They were just given a weapon and taught how to reload. Roach saw none of them use the iron sights of their rifles. Unless there was a scope, though. At the turn to the left, a gate with something Portuguese was written. He couldn't understand what it was. But because of the raw vegetables laid on tables and some other stuff, he assumed it was a market.

"There, the GPS says we need to go through there."

Roach pulled the squeaking gate. As they entered, he told the guys to stop at once. "Shh.." he hushed, "Movement on the right."

"Let's flank 'em bastards." said MacTavish. Ghost nodded. Instead of entering through the gate, they walked to the right. They pulled themselves up at a side of the gate where the 'arrowheads' were missing. Though, the grills were greasy. Some hoodlums must be thieving from there. After Roach's foot hit the floor, the men turned and quickly raised their arms. "Don't shoot!" said one.

One of the only two was a Caucasian male wearing a helmet, an indigo shirt that was topped with a khaki bulletproof vest. The other was an African-American wearing almost the same drab although his shirt was white. Both were carrying NATO made weapons. Both not bought from the black market. They weren't militia. They were One-Four-One.

"What the hell are you guys doin' here?" asked Ghost. The black guy shrugged and replied, "Well, we was gonna help ya, but we can see that we're not needed so-"

"Huh, hold it you cheeky bastard..." The man was jokingly walking away.

"Hahahaha... Sir, we've come to assist you..." said Chemo, the 'bastard'. The other one explained their being there, "Sir, when General Shepherd told the team that we were goin' back, we asked him to let us stay in case you guys needed assistance. When they left, so did we. We set off for your last know location. Oh, and by the way, that was quite a mess you made back there."

"My, how considerate of you two." said Ghost, semi-sarcastically. "Well, did you two think of evac?"

"Ahem... Well about that... well... we didn't" said Rocket.

"Yeah... my homie here didn't think of it."

"Me?"

"Yeah. YOU. Dawg wasn't that thinking deep enough." he told the three British men. "So, yeah, sir. That's what we did. We thought you might need help."

"Thanks, now let's go." said MacTavish. Chemo replied, "Fo' sho'!"

"Eh?"

"He said 'For sure', sir..." Rocket explained for his friend.

There were now five of them. As they pulled out, Roach saw one chicken in a crate and wanted to bring it with him. Saying that he wanted a pet chicken. After a few minutes of debate, Roach agreed, sadly, to leave it there.

The team now consisted of five members. They were now a 'real' team. "Guys, before we get out of this market, better check your ammo." advised the captain. "Jacked up," Rocket smiled, "and good to go." Roach just grunted.

"Yo! I'm gonna kick me some Brazilian ass!" yelled Chemo, raising his M4 in the air. While, Ghost clapped his hands, "Yeah, C'mon... I don't wanna miss my afternoon tea."

The men ran. "Just half a mile now, chaps..." MacTavish said. He wondered what happened to Roach. He was fine a minute ago then he goes mad. It was very strange. Though MacTavish acknowledge the torture had traumatized him, it was very disturbing. It was the last thing MacTavish needed, his men going bonkers. "You sure yer okay, laddie?"

"YEP!" yelled Roach, like a boy.

Back to Roach: He was putting off another one of his acts. This time, he made the team believe that he was demented or something. But truth was, he was still sane but he was not 'okay'. He used these acts to cover what he felt. He felt sympathy for the bad guy. Though not really Stockholm Syndrome, it was similar. He knew his friends would be disgusted if they knew Roach was feeling sorry for mindless murderers, drug pushers and illegal weapons dealers. He didn't know what to do. He just thought maybe if he would act like the guy from A-Team, the Murdock guy or whatever... and seem like his screw was loose, the guys wouldn't think of it. Roach thought it was time to stop this charade. Roach Murdock was out. Gary Sanderson was back.

As they entered the streets, the battle started again. More of the militia poured in from every direction. "Guys they're trying to corner us." spoke Roach.

"No sheeee-it!" retorted Chemo. MacTavish was glad to hear Roach's normal voice, "Roach, that you?"

"Yeah... The real me..." A Sikorsky MH-53 swept above them. It hovered there for about seconds. A man trying to stabilize his footing in the passenger door waved at them. "That's Nikolai!" screeched MacTavish. He called Nikolai and signaled with his arms. "NIKOLAI! Go! We'll be there! ETA 20 seconds!"

"THAT MAY BE NOT FAST ENOUGH! I SEE MILITIA HEADING FOR THE COMPOUND!"

"JUST GO, Nikolai!"

The copter left them. "Pick up the pace, people!" They sprinted as fast as they could. Roach could feel the presence of the incoming horde of gun-wielding maniacs. He could feel them because of all the bullets whizzing past his head. They went inside some makeshift homes. Some idiots inside did banzai charges that ended in them getting a face full of lead. The funny thing was. They weren't even brandishing bayonets on their weapons. What? Were they going to bash them?

They pushed through the enemy. Finally, they found the right house that had entrance to backyard-compound. But the ground was empty. Where was Nikolai?

Dust spread all over the place as the Pave Low appeared. Yet, Nikolai hesitated to land. Roach wondered why. Suddenly, the loud blast of an RPG pained their ears. The rocket went straight for the chopper but as a skilled pilot of the Soviet Army years ago, Nikolai swerved the copter to the left. Making the grenade miss. _Thank God for no missile lock on on the RPG-7!_

Nikolai called on the comm. A exasperated voice, very different from the one they heard earlier, screamed, "**THE LZ IS TOO HOT! WE WILL NOT SURVIVE THIS LANDING!**"

MacTavish let go of his armament and crossed his arms then waved at the pilot. "Nikolai wave off! Wave off! Find a secondary LZ and we'll meet you there instead! Go!"

The heli started to turn around, "**VERY WELL! I WILL ADVISE YOU OF THE NEW LOCATION A.S.A.P.!**"

The bird flew away towards nowhere. MacTavish picked up his gun then shot the hostiles in sight. "C'mon!" he yelled. The comm rang. "Nikolai!"

"**My friend, there is a spot near you where I can hover for a minute without being shot down! The militia won't be able to go near you since the location is very remote!**"

"Go on!" The team- scratch that- MacTavish decided to go North. The rest, as always, followed. He rushed to an alcove hidden between two houses. There were two tumbled barrels there and a couple of crates. "**It is just 37 meters north of you! It is the highest point in this area and 'tis the only roof! The rest is cliff and water!**"

"Right! We'll meet you there! Out!" MacTavish ordered his troops to just follow his lead. He grabbed the nearest metal ledge and climbed the roof. Roach stacked the crates so it wouldn't be that hard for the others and used it as stairs. "**My friend, from here, it looks like the whole village is trying to kill you!**"

When the five of them were on the roof already, MacTavish sprinted. Though he didn't like the idea of it. The tin was very fragile. "Nikolai, tell me something I don't know... Just get ready to pick us up!"

Roach was careful to step only on the part of the roof where he saw nails. There, he knew, was the strongest part of the roof since the wooden support beams were there. Although, the was a time where he stepped on it and his foot fell through. "Laddies!" the captain called, dripping of sweat and pacing. "Loose yer vests and weapons! They're keeping you down! We aren't gonna need 'em anyway if we can outrun these damned fools!"

Ghost agreed. He was the first one to follow the boss's order. He unstrapped the Velcro on his vest and dumped it while he was still running. They shrugged and did so too. As Roach was removing the Velcro on his vest, he remembered the golden Dragunov! He felt that it would be such a waste if he just threw it away! He was about to ask MacTavish if he could keep it but understood that it would be a waste of time. Roach gulped then dropped it along with his other weapons. Without the armor, they themselves looked like hoodlums since they were only wearing shirts and jeans. Roach felt a bit naked. "We're running out of rooftops!" screamed Ghost.

"There!" MacTavish pointed to the only house at the back. It was a house by a cliff, making it the highest point. The Pave Low was there, but there was a big gap between the two houses. "We can make the jump just don't stop running!"

MacTavish made the first jump. He leaped into the air and made it to the ledge! He nearly fell but managed to balance himself to stumble on the roof instead of falling to the dirt, three storeys below. Chemo had long legs so he was next. He made it alright to the roof. Rocket, the lightest of them all, made it farthest.

Ghost looked at Roach. "Ey, Roach. Let's jump together!"

Roach nodded. Both of them felt excitement as they neared the end of roof they were on. Roach was confident he was gonna make it. And even if he just managed to grab the ledge, he was sure the guys would be able to pull him up. Adrenaline reached the highest point again and time slowed again. Roach spread his arms as they hurled themselves to the other side. Ghost rolled on the other roof when he landed.

Roach's arms and head slammed on the metal. He made it, he thought. Just then, Roach slid a bit down. He was still on the roof but the metal had reached his chin. The combined sweat and blood seemed to make some kind of lubricant. "Guys! He- !"

He slid down, as he desperately tried to claw on the roof, hoping he could grab something. MacTavish acted quickly and proned to try and grab Roach's arm. But alas! His arm missed Roach's.

"Shit." uttered Roach.

Roach opened his eyes and gasped for air. He had fallen three storeys down. "**Roach!**" Ghost screamed in the comm. "Wha- What?" Roach sat up. It wasn't the first time he fell. He cursed himself for being so fall-prone. There were a couple of gashes in his arms. He rubbed his eyes. His vision was, indeed, blurred. Something was moving down that street. "**Roach! We can see them from the chopper! They're commin' for you! Dozens of 'em!**"

His vision sharpened. What was moving down the street were around fifteen militia charging at him. As if the fall wasn't bad enough...

MacTavish's voice came next, "**Roach! Get the hell out of there and find a way to get to the rooftops! Move it! Run for it! Get to the rooftops!**" Roach forced his legs to stand. **Whizz... Whizz...** The militiamen were already shooting at him. _Oh... God..._

Roach kicked down a door to his left. The thing came down in splinters. He burst through the remaining wood and ran as fast as he could. He cursed again for not even having a pistol to defend himself. The building he ran through led to some steps leading down. He took it, even if he needed to go up. Roach knew immediately he made the right choice of taking them when he saw stairs that lead to a home. Rushing up them, he could hear the helicopter's blades nearby.

For the sergeant, there was nothing else to do but run for his life. He had come to a house with a large window. The chopper was a few meters away. "Roach!" screamed MacTavish. "Jump down on those rooftops and meet us south of yer position!"

_Rooftops? What roof- oh!_ Roach looked beneath his position. Around five houses with rooftops that had slanting roofs were built side by side. As luck would have it the roofs overlapped each other and formed a slide. At the end of the slide was a window, much like the one Roach was looking through. "Roach! Hurry up! We're runnin' on fumes here! You've got thirty seconds!"

Roach roll-jumped over the window. He collapsed on the roof and slid down. He felt his bum heat as there was friction with his pants and the aluminum. H went through the second window and broke the table sat beside it. Roach looked up. The militia were giving him the finger and they were hopping over the window. _Geez... these wankers are really blood-thirsty they're willing to follow me to the ends of the earth._

"**Roach! Twenty seconds!**"

Sanderson rushed. He went left to the next room and found yet another window. It didn't occur to him that he was on the second floor of the house. And there were houses nearby. He jumped out and ran on the roofs. He saw the chopper descend slowly. MacTavish threw down a rope ladder. _Almost there... Aaaargh!_ He felt the bullet tear through flesh and sinew on his shoulder. _No... can't stop..._

"**JUMP FOR IT!**"

He almost missed the ladder. But his right hand grabbed the last bar on it. His goggles hit the wood and it cracked. _Gotta get another one..._ He felt the ladder being pulled up. Someone took him from the shoulder and he screamed. His vision started to get fuzzy again. "Ah... I made it?" he asked.

"You did, mate. You did." said Ghost. Nikolai looked behind his seat, then asked MacTavish, "Where to, my friend?"

"Can this copter reach Kazahkstan?" MacTavish answered him with another question. Nikolai paused for a moment to think. He gave the dashboard a glance and faced MacTavish back again. "Yes we can, but we have to refuel."

"Ghost, where can we refuel?"

"The closest is... our base in Texas... some of our boys are there. One-Four-One Dallas sector. It's an airbase." Ghost prodded his finger on the map taped on the side. He returned to his seat and grabbed the medkit nailed on the wall.

"Thank you... Nikolai... that's the place."

Shepherd sat on his chair in his cabin. Actually, Captain Mancuso's cabin. But as Shepherd's ranking officer on the sub, Mancuso insisted he borrow his cabin. Mancuso was the 60 year-old captain of the USS Dallas. He had commandeered this submarine since 1981. Quite a long time ago.

There were 45 rpm records on a phonograph on the table. Mancuso turned it on. Claire de Lune played. Shepherd scoffed. Though he didn't show it, he was never a big fan of music, much less with classical music. He took his Zippo from his pocket and unscrewed the cap of his cigar case. The cigar popped out and Shepherd slid it out. He cut off one end then ignited the lighter. The fire illuminated the dark room. "Like some whiskey, General?" offered Mancuso.

"Thanks, Captain... I'd like some..." Shepherd puffed from the cigar. Mancuso poured the liquor into a glass, then he handed it to the General. Shepherd took a sip. The whiskey warmed him all over. It felt nice since it was cold in the Atlantic. He slouched and pondered... _They'll pay... and they'll regret that it never happened..._ He mind heated a bit because he thought about _it_ again. "How troubling..." uttered the sub captain.

"Eh?"

"The- U.S.- invaded... and there's nothing we can do to help..." The skipper gloomed. He sat near the phonograph. "I wonder how they're holdin' up?"

"Don't worry, Captain... Our boys out they're are ten times the men than the Red army."

"Yes... but one can't help feeling a bit... depressed."

**Tak... Tak... Tak...** a knock on the cabin door. Mancuso stood and opened it to peek. "General, it's one of your men."

"Let him in."

'Men' was a misnomer. Her brown hair waved as she stepped into the cabin. "Oh..." said Shepherd, "It's you, Nirent." Erin, though she had been crying her blue eyes out for the past two hours since she heard of the invasion, was still very pretty. "Sir," she began, "I have information about what Captain MacTavish got out from Rojas."

"Captain Mancuso..." Shepherd faced him, "Would you please excuse us?" Mancuso nodded and said, "Aye, skipper" He walked out and closed the door.

"Sit down, Nirent. Oh and before you do... shut the goddamned phonograph off." Erin took the needle from the record and turned it off. She sat opposite Shepherd. Shepherd pressed the button on the desk lamp. He took his cigar from his mouth and put it on the ashtray. Nirent handed him a Manila folder. He took out the papers and placed them where the light shone. "A gulag?"

"Yes, sir... and the prisoner 627 seems to be connected to Makarov."

Shepherd turned the page. "And a military officer also has a connection with Makarov?"

"Yessir..."

"I knew it... the Russian government did have a part in the airport attack. The Russians are a bloodthirsty folk."

"Sir, it hasn't been proven that the officer was Russ-"

Shepherd interrupted her, "Good work, sergeant. Elaborate the info once we get back to Kazakhstan. Well- I know I'm being dropped off in Annapolis but I'll get back to One-Four-One HQ within the day. I just have a few loose ends needed to be taken care of in the U.S. Get yourself some coffee or some sleep."

"Sir, yes, sir!" she went out with a salute. The general saluted her back. Shepherd turned-off the light and puffed his cigar again._ Mark my words... the country will pay!_


End file.
